Ancient Magics
by MyWhiteKnight
Summary: AU - Summer before second year, Hermione learns about a world of long forgotten tradition and ancient festivals. Weeks after Dumbledore's death, she sets out to attend one festival before she gambles her life on the war. One night of ancient magic changed her life, and the course of the war, forever. HGSS
1. A Midsummer Night's Dream

Sweet, sticky mead slid down her throat, warmth radiating from the golden liquid. Swaying hips moved back and forth to the hypnotic beat undulating through the Irish air. Hermione gazed at the lush landscape under the setting sun, brilliant warm hues saturating every blade of grass and tree trunk. Unlit bonfires sat at the center of the clearing as people milled about, preparing the rites for the moonrise.

The war raging within England and Scotland felt like naught but a blurred nightmare. Maybe it was the wine, or the beguiling, festive atmosphere, but the young brunette woman felt transported. Fellow revelers drank and made merry all about her, laughing and joyous shouts suffusing the large ritual grounds. If not for the newly ingrained paranoia, nor the depressingly horrific memories of the past twenty-four hours - _No, don't think about that now, Hermione._

Instead, she let the surreal trance of the magical holiday anchor her mind to the present. An odd mixture of wizards who honored the ancient ways and muggles who maintained the traditions mingled about the ever darkening clearing. She reflected, another sip of mead sliding down to her stomach, that the wizarding world truly was not as repressed as those in power made you think. A small grin bloomed upon her face as she remembered her first summer holiday with Augusta Longbottom.

With the ease of a story teller, the energetic woman related all manner of tales regarding the ancient rites. Hermione always thought that those things, the solstices and equinoxes, were only important to older societies. In some ways, she was right. However, the plucky old woman explained not only the magical significance, but the more spiritual feeling of these events. A knowing sparkle flickered in her hazel eyes as if looking towards the past. Interspersed with these tales were lessons her friend's grandmother deemed fit to teach the young brunette. These romantic tales tempered the often confusing and demanding wizarding etiquette.

Though excited to learn more all such holidays, Hermione did not get the chance until after the World Cup. A fond expression found itself to her face, watching as twilight cast its glow upon the world. Despite spending time with the Longbottoms as an adopted granddaughter to Augusta and sister to Neville, Hermione did not get the chance until after the World Cup. In the rush of keeping everyone safe, the young witch found herself whisked away to the secluded cottage of her transfiguration professor upon the Scottish Highlands.

There, she found books and journals about more than just the ritual holidays. Pages upon pages, volumes and tomes and scrolls, dedicated to the ancient magics. Ley lines, elements, and more knowledge not taught at Hogwarts filled her head during those weeks at the picturesque cottage. Her professor happily indulged the eager and young Hermione in all of her questions.

Perhaps what caught her attention the most was the romanticism associated with everything. How the Dark God and the Goddess would awaken in each person, and, for the lucky few, how they would claim one another, finding their mates. These individuals, Professor McGonagall explained in a faraway voice, were always perfectly suited for one another. From the moment they claimed one another, only death could keep them apart even temporarily. Starry eyed and admittedly hopelessly romantic daydreams distracted her for much of September and October of her fourth year.

Her professor fed the unquenchable thirst to know more, and, soon, Hermione noticed similarities between Christian holidays and their magical counterparts. Intellectually, she knew long before that the Catholic Church chose the pagan holidays to overlap their own celebrations. Both arbitrary and hypocritical, many of the holidays retained similar activities and overarching themes. Recognizing the overlap still surprised her. By the end of her fifth year, Hermione had learned more about the ancient ways than large majority of the wizarding world, pureblood snobs included.

Upon every bucket list she drew up, the very top was to attend just one of these rituals, to experience the Goddess within her, and to bask in the euphoric feel of magic. Looking back to the events of just a few weeks ago, Hermione knew her time to be limited. Being the muggle born best friend of Harry Potter gave her slim to no chance of surviving the next few months, let alone the next year, and once they rescued him from the Dursley's, she would not be able to leave. With as many provisions in place as possible, Hermione sent her parents away just before coming to Ireland at one of the largest ritual sites.

A hushed silence filled the clearing as the elders enacting the rites filed in from the forest. Every person stood in anticipation, tense and excited. Hermione watched as the robed men and women stood in a circle around the bonfires. The silvery glow of the moon's rays began to creep over the forest's edge, and, as one, the robed wizards began to chant. Guttural, sing-song syllables filled the air, magic humming it's current through each person. It felt like fire and energy and adrenaline, coursing through her blood. With each beat of the drum, tempo accelerating until it came to some unknown precipice.

One, final shouted word echoed, and an orgasmic joy and jolt sped through Hermione's body, sublime and transcendent. Pure, unadulterated magic used her physical form as a conduit, infusing her very soul with power she never knew. She could feel the Goddess within her now a nebulous cloud of energy. Her very being bared for all to see, to celebrate, and, perhaps, for one to worship.

Joyful shouts, incredulous laughter, and general amazement greeted her ears, eyes closed somewhere along the way. When they fluttered open, a kaleidoscope of color suffused everything. Bold, bright pinks and yellows mixed with the mellow greens and blues. Obnoxious oranges mixed with purples, neutral colors dancing among the chromatic mess. For a time, Hermione leaned back, sipping the mead in her goblet, and watched the dancers twirl around the lit Midsummer bonfires.

Just as she finally became used to the enthralling sway of those around her, a new sensation licked down Hermione's spine. Warm and familiar, exciting yet unknown, it felt as if someone trailed a teasing finger down the length of her spine. With a certainty that surprised her, cinnamon eyes turned to find the source. A man, whom intense gaze excited her very core met her searching glance. While no defining features could be distinguished through the visible haze of ancient magic, something about him called to her.

Feet led the way, gracefully twisting through the crowd, before conscious thought went into the action. Forgotten laid the currently amorous lovers, mates or not. Some propped against empty kegs, forgotten carts, or bales of hay. Others found corners and niches away from the main throughway. Yet, Hermione saw nothing. Her world narrowed into the mysterious man, his navy and emerald aura swirling with power around his lithe frame. Eyes never leaving hers, he lead her behind a far set of hay bales, behind a copse of trees, and into a more intimate clearing.

Fired followed his fingertips as they grazed up and down her arms. Thrice twined voice, boy, man, and elder, spun words of seduction, hot breath tickling her ear and neck. Heat radiated off of him, drying her mouth and wetting her core. She, the perfect, virgin sacrifice, responded in kind. Surreal and herself at the basest level, Hermione had few coherent thoughts of how she just did not act this way.

Goody-goody, know-it-all bookworms do not moan into sweet kisses. Nor do they curl a leg around a man's waist, wanton and needy. They do not arouse strange, mysterious men, whether or not the ancient magics claim him as her own. Groaning, grunting, whimpering, begging were all unbecoming of all straight laced, perfect students, and they most certainly do not caress men so unashamedly in such private places. Then, her partner would nibble her earlobe, suckle her neck, or start to disrobe her entirely, and she would forget any and all objections and thoughts.

By the time they completely disrobed each other, limbs tangled together, she lay a whimpering mass of nerves upon the soft, green grass. A feminine power swept over her as she saw this god, her very own Dark God, her mate since the most ancient of times, nestled between her thighs. Only she had this power, to reduce an obviously powerful man to worshipping her and no one else. As she shattered at his talented fingers and tongue, much harder than her hand provided, a simple look recalled him to her lips.

Their coupling began slow and tender, exploring the sensation of being one. A raw need began to consume Hermione, which made her lover respond just as she wished. Something powerful laid on the horizon, it built deep within her belly, coiling and tightening its hold upon her. Lusty moans mixed with his deep, rough grunts and groans, a soundtrack rounded out by the singing cicadas and night creatures around them. As the moon crested, full, bright, and directly overhead, they reached their shared climax. Magic poured out from every pore, heightening the pleasure to the point of nearly passing out. Hermione swore she saw the incarnation of the Dark God take over her lover right at the moment.

Together, they collapsed and, after a moment, he rolled off of her. A firm, possessive arm snaked across her waist, pulling her close as their hearts slowed. Music drifted from the main ritual site, the moon providing the only light as it began its nightly descent. A flick transfigured her cloak into a quilt large enough for two, and they burrowed together as one. At some point, Hermione must have drifted off, for he was gone when she opened her eyes. Her only companion hung low in the sky, and she could feel the magic beginning to recede within herself.

Exhausted and deliciously sore, Hermione stretched and stood, quilt wrapped tightly around her shoulders, wand in hand, as she laid upon one of the bales of hay. She slept a long, dreamless, restful sleep, and awoke only as the sun peaked in the sky. Around her, revelers still slumbered. She watched the world with a strange, new duality, one she knew would stay. The Goddess, now awake within her, gave instinctual knowledge. Just as she knew her name, Hermione knew her mate had left a gift. Deep in her bones, the truth echoed within her whole being. Thoughts and plans flitted through her mind, emotions fighting to the fore. Both exhilarated and petrified, the young brunette looked towards the future.


	2. Setting Up Secrets

**July 1997**

Hermione looked out of the Burrow window. The garden beyond framed the image of three young men, no more mature than twelve year old boys, run about, degnoming the garden. In a few short hours, they, along with other order members, would be evacuating Harry from his cousin's home. Nerves twirled through her mind, as she resisted the urge to check on her beaded bag once more. She knew she had everything needed, but one could never be too careful. In addition, most of the Order were out for blood, specifically of their supposed traitor.

A frown marred her face, as Hermione reviewed the events of the past June. It never made sense to her, but she knew better than to bring it up with most of the Order. Ron spat his name like a curse, the twins devised devious devices to unleash upon him, and even the more mild tempered members scowled at the mention of her old potions master. Yet, the events did not sit right with her logic and previous knowledge. Something was off, and no one would listen.

"Boys! Dinner," Molly Weasley shouted through the open door, effectively cutting off Hermione's musings.

The rest of the evening passed in nervous excitement until, finally, the rest of the Order assembled. With a pop, they apparated enmass to the Dursley's rather plain suburban home. As everyone milled about, polyjuice potion doled out and administered, Hermione forcefully kept from hugging herself. It started now. Her best laid plans, the past month of hard, quick work, the negotiations, hiding in plain sight while the ministry held some shred of outward control. The Goddess within told her what Hermione already knew; once Harry got involved, even the best laid plans turned to dust.

Sure enough, the group of seven Harry's and their escorts left the ground only to be met by spellfire. Logic and instinct fought for control, her wand flicking and swishing in the air. Bright lights illuminated the clouds in a facsimile of lightning during an electrical storm. Clinging to Kingsley as he pushed the thestral beneath them as fast as he could, another sensation brewed just under her skin. A prickle of awareness and recognition, something that fought to be noticed. However, the masked menaces required her full attention, and Hermione could not spare a thought for it now.

Tunneling through screams and shouts, they raced towards the safe point. Ducking and deflecting, two bright, red spells shot out from her wand, hitting one, which caused the other to dive to catch his compatriot. A final burst of speed sent the trio careening through the protective wards around Kingsley's home. The world spun as the dizzy and disoriented Hermione leaned over and emptied the contents of her stomach, a grimace on her face.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" the dark man asked, concern in his eyes.

"I-I am just dizzy," she gasped before standing up and wiping the side of her mouth. "Nerves and all that swerving."

She offered the man a tight smile, knowing it to be the best excuse she had. After a moment of analytical contemplation, he accepted the proffered explanation with a curt nod.

"Then we best be off, come on, let's get out of here," Kingsley produced a small muggle debit card.

Gripping her side of the portkey firmly, the world swirled around her before landing on the ground in front of the Burrow. Grim and nervous Order members milled about outside, some darting in when they heard the gale of Molly Weasley's wails. With a shrug and curious glance, the older man turned towards the house to see the commotion. Hermione stood resolutely waiting for the rest of the moving party to arrive. Bill and Fleur greeted her, a bit beat up, but okay, rushing inside to check on George and his missing ear.

Only when Harry and Ron appeared did Hermione breath a sigh of relief, letting the past hour get to her. In a rush of activity, the rest of the night passed. Once or twice, she caught a scrutinizing gaze from Remus, and she tried to gain Professor McGonagall's attention a few times to talk. Yet, in typically Molly fashion, they were all bustled out of the kitchen and tucked into bed before anything truly meaningful could be said or done.

When the lights went out, and Ginny's breathing deep and even, Hermione allowed herself to reflect upon the night. Awareness felt like the prickle of a numb limb regaining feeling, that unsettling, pins and needles sensation with a mix of the lick of heat from the Midsummer festival. All of the implications swirled within her mind, eyes flicking across the ceiling, unfocused. Yet, it all made a perverse sense, and it pleased her Goddess, made her purr. Hermione laid in bed, and, if her hypothesis were correct, she _knew_ her mate.

 _Bloody, blistering hell._

oOo oOo oOo

The eve before the wedding, Hermione sat by herself in front of the pond. Her mind swirled as she played with the bag in her hands. The adult members of the Order sat within the Burrow for a last-minute security meeting. While still not allowed to attend, Hermione did not truly mind. She knew what Harry planned to do, and one of the contingencies she arranged would go into effect tonight. On her lap sat three nondescript journals. To go forth into the unknown without any contact felt foolish and short sighted. Not to mention, she'd be needing these quite a bit sooner rather than later.

Harry's birthday proved be a rather joyous affair, and the party went on for quite a while. Even if the adults were now being serious, the remainder of the younger generation remained within the sitting room playing exploding snap and laughing at everything. Hermione could not stand to be with them right now, for a multitude of reasons. From the looks Remus gave her all day, she knew he would be giving her an earful, though she found it frustratingly hypocritical if his over protectiveness about Tonks was anything to go on. She craved to speak to Minerva the most of any. Even if Bill and Ginny were also festival babes, the Weasley family did not follow or understand the old ways with quite the same intensity that Minerva kept them.

 _At least,_ Hermione reflected as the moon began to rise over the distant trees, _when I tell Ron, he'll understand. Harry will be the one to fly off the handle, but that I can deal with. He listens to Ron better anyways, and if I just can get that containment spells to hold, they should be able to function. Theoretically. So, I just need to stay until then._

The trickle of the less known members cued Hermione to stand, swiping at the stray grass on her denims. Making sure none were the ones she had to speak to, Hermione twined through the departing individuals with a smile and goodbye. Settled along the long, wooden table in the cosy Weasley kitchen sat most of the 'inner circle' of the Order.

"Kingsley, Professor, Remus, may I speak to you three alone?" came her tentative question.

Pensive brows furrowed as several of the others dithered with platitudes that meant nothing to her. With a nod or a word, all three acquiesced, and naught a moment later were left alone in the room. A silencing and imperturbable spell kept all the other nosy Gryffindors (and an excitable Hufflepuff) from the conversation.

"What is this about, Hermione?" Minerva McGonagall, severe bun and spectacles all, regarded her with concern.

"Yes, is there something you wish to tell us?" a slightly accusatory note colored Remus' question.

"No more than you wish to inform us of as of yet, Remus," Hermione replied in clipped tones, satisfied when an abashed blush stained the man's cheeks. "It's important, though."

Upon the table sat her three journals. Each embossed with a golden phoenix, though with subtle differences. A moon and wolf curled within the bird of the first, the warm, brown leather worn and soft and parchment pages, uneven and jagged. Another had the profile of a lion, black and formal, with even, pressed pages between the covers. The last book shone a burnished burgundy with a cat curled up within the phoenix, yellowed parchment a warm compliment to the outer leather.

"I made these over the summer," Hermione began, passing out the books to each person, "They are communication journals, charmed to be water and fire proof, and disguised to anyone not keyed to the journal itself. Remus, if you wish for Tonks to be keyed to your journal, I'll do so after this," the werewolf nodded. Vinewood slid from her sleeve as she instructed each person to place their palm upon their books, and, with three quick flicks, they were attuned.

"Now, you know that Dumbledore gave Harry a task, and that Ron and myself will be accompanying him no matter what you say," grimaces and nods greeted this statement. "He meant for us to do so without communication to anyone. I find this insufficient and short sighted." Minerva snorted, knowing well Hermione's rants of unpreparedness. "So, I have taken matters into my own hands. Each one of these have a variation of the protean charm; we can communicate back and forth about whatever is necessary. They are now attuned so only you can see what is written and by who. When others look, they will see different things. Remus, they would see a detailed journal and notes about werewolves and any research you could be doing. Kingsley, they would see your notes of the Aurory and related ministry news. Professor, they would see one of your working journals.

"They will copy messages from all three of you into one of my books, and you will each be able to see what the others wrote. Write your message, in whatever inks you wish, and tap your wand. It will transcribe into the corresponding journals. When a message appears, you will hear a slight bell in the back of your mind. The louder the chime, the more urgent the message, which is determined by the intent behind the sending spell. Let me show you," she brandished a thin, small journal with a leather thong holding the cover closed.

To her bemusement, the adults watched her with a mixture of wonder, awe, and curiosity. A similar phoenix stood out upon the cover, a tawny owl perched within. Deft fingers removed the strap of leather and fetched a muggle ball point pen. She flashed a cheeky smile at the bemused purebloods, noticing Remus' conspiring smirk, and wrote.

 _ **Keep these hidden from the rest of the Order. Any information regarding us should be kept to a minimum incase of leaks due to well meaning parents or unsure alliances such as Mundungus.**_ The tip of her wand tapped it, and she could tell the three other gathered around heard the notification.

"Marvelous," Minerva breathed as she opened the book, seeing Hermione's elegant script before adding her own message.

The chime rung in her head, and Hermione opened the journal. _**As always, I respect your decision in this matter. If all goes as we fear, you three leaving Hogwarts will be a blessing**_ _._ The brunette witch smiled at her mentor, and kept her book open.

"If you have the journal already open and are currently corresponding with someone, the alert will not sound. No need to have headaches and hear noises while actively communicating," Hermione added as she watched Kingsley take the quill from Minerva.

 _ **A most amazing invention, indeed. I will keep your counsel. What types of things shall we report?**_ His bold text added to the page.

She responded with, _**Anything that may be of help or interest. I will be relaying information to the boys. They are, despite all their virtues, very rash, emotional, and prone to recklessness of action. I want to temper their actions to the best of my ability, and knowing everything all at once is not necessarily the best option.**_

Remus' eyes narrowed for a moment before he opened his journal and began to scribble in it with a similar pen from his pocket. Cinnamon eyes narrowed, suspicious of the werewolf. Hermione had always liked the mild manner man, for the most part. Some aspects of life they simply agreed to disagree, and neither touched upon those subjects without great care. However, she knew he had a latent less-than-cruel-more-than-funny streak, and that worried her.

 _ **I believe it best we talk about all of the expectations before we go further with this arrangement. What terms are we talking about? To whom can we speak? What should we report? How do we know it's you?**_ The unspoken, _can we trust you_ laid heavy between the were and herself.

"Excellent, now that these are all working, I will answer your questions," Hermione continued, matter-of-factly, as if not being accused. "My terms are simply. Keep us abreast of important, pertinent information. What laws do we need to be aware of? Who can we trust? Where is it safe for us to go? Where not? Is it safe to temporarily go to a safehouse to regroup? Likewise, I will inform you of any major events we encounter. Runaways, news, whether we are safe or not, if we are supplied, or injured.

"I would like this to stay within this circle. At most, as I said earlier, you can tell Tonks, Remus," the young woman met the man's gaze. "I do not want this information to be out and about. As it was, someone tipped off the Death Eaters when we'd be moving Harry, and that was changed after Dumbledore died." A frown marred the features of those around the table, letting it sink in that Snape could not have known and tipped off the Dark Lord himself. "In addition, I don't need the Weasley clan out hunting for Ron. You can tell the Order that you have, on high authority, that we are safe, but not to be found. That is what I ask of you if you agree to take these with you."

"I accept your terms," Minerva solemnly spoke, a flare of magic lighting the face of the journal. "I take it that sealed the enchantments?"

"Naturally," she smiled at her mentor.

"Clever, my dear," the older witch grinned.

"I accept your terms, as well, Hermione," Kingsley added, a thoughtful look on his face. "I only further ask that you lot don't try to do everything on your own. Reach out when you are able, and when it is safe."

"That is my intention, Kingsley," Hermione smiled at the dark skinned man. "Harry will want to do it all alone, I know, since he is convinced that is Dumbledore's plan. I rather we use anything we have to our advantage."

"Just as well," his rich voice chuckled. "Albus was many things, but forthcoming was not amongst them."

A quiet snicker left her lips as she settled back. Remus, she knew after the night they retrieved Harry, would be a gamble. He most likely knew her secret, an unfortunate but necessary evil. Being the man of integrity, and having the reasoning of any muggle-raised individual, Remus did not do well with the unknown, especially since she knew exactly what he was trying to protect. Two of three, accounting for Minerva's understanding, was not bad, and they were three of the most likely to survive if the war were to be won.

"I accept your terms," the werewolf finally said. "With great trepidation. I do not like _any_ of this, Hermione, but you have given me no reason to doubt you. See that it stays that way."

"I will do everything in my power to make it so," Hermione nodded, with a relieved sigh. As the adults made to stand up, her charms dismantled, the young woman called out, "Minerva, would it be possible for you to stay a bit longer? There is something I must speak to you about."

"Of course, my dear," her Scottish concerned lilt answered.

With a final goodbye to both men, Hermione and her former Head of House walked out into the night. They spoke of general topics as the warm glow of the Burrow shrunk. Two cracks of apparation sounded in the distance, and, when Hermione satisfied herself that both the men to be gone, she turned their stroll to the bench. In silence, similar wards were erected around the two women, and so they sat for a time.

"You know of my fascination and love for the ancient magics, Professor," Hermione began, soft and wistful. "My connection with all of those ideals, the truth about myself even," her lips quirked. "I decided after last term that I had best get on with it, you know. I knew my time was limited. That it is likely I will die before this is all over."

"Hermione," Minerva whispered, worried, sad downturn to her lips speaking volumes.

"Professor- Minerva, you know I am right. Muggle born and best friend to Harry Potter? I might as well paint a bright, red target on my back," a humorless chuckle escaped her. "So, I do what needed to be done, as always. I-I sent my parents away," Hermione choked back a sob. "Took their memories and sent them to Australia, to keep them safe. They wouldn't see reason, nor believe me when I told them of the real danger."

"Oh, you dear," murmured the older woman, her hand rubbing soothing circles now on Hermione's lower back.

"S-so, I did what I always wanted to do before I died," the younger woman soldiered on with a deep breath. "I went to the Midsummer festival in Ireland. The one you and Augusta always twinkle about when you talk of it. And it was as amazing as you said. More than spiritual. More than magic. I can't even describe how it felt to be one with everyone and everything."

"Aye, lass, it is quite the experience," a small smile tugged at the stern professor's face. "But that's not all, is it?"

"No," chestnut curls bounced back and forth. "I- well that is to say-"

"You found him, didn't you?" a hushed reverent whisper swirled into the night air.

"Yes," Hermione gulped a moment later, just as quiet.

Neither spoke for a time. Fireflies blinked in and out of existence across the meadow and above the pond. Owls sung their nightly song, as the bugs chimed and chirped. A soft breeze ruffled hems of robes across the grass, hair upon the wind. All fell still and silent in the night's calm, lulling quiet. From the corner of her eye, Hermione watched as Minerva observed her, openly and frankly. Without a doubt, the older woman understood.

"Why not go to Molly about this?" Minerva asked at last.

"I thought about it," a concentrated, thoughtful expression on Hermione's face. "However, I do not want it to be a well known fact. If Molly knew, then everyone would know. And if everyone knew, well…"

"Ah yes, the Weasley inability to keep truly important secrets," the cat animagus chuckled. "Well known trait in the Prewitts, if I remember correctly."

"It will make it easier for the boys to understand, though," the young woman added as an afterthought, a touch bitter. "Harry always listens to Ron about such things."

"Well, boys will be boys, Hermione," Minerva clucked. "They don't like always being corrected by women about everything. It takes a truly strong man to withstand formidable women such as ourselves."

"Mayhap we have never been with many men," Hermione answered with a mischievous smirk of her own.

"Ah, but who we are with count the most," her mentor gave a sage nod.

"Very true," she murmured her agreement.

The older woman broke the silence. "What is it you need of me, child?"

"Support, advice, and a place out of the way to stay," Hermione whispered. "I have much of what I need, and have been researching various spells, wards, and enchantments. If you have something on a minor ley line, moreso the better. It will take a day or so for me to reinforce whatever you would have on it. I will make a fortress fit to last a decade long siege."

"I have a few family properties I can check for you," pinched lips and furrowed brow met Hermione's gaze. "However, I think I know just the spot. However, it will be staffed with family house elves. I don't want any trouble."

"I've learned that lesson well, Minerva," Hermione huffed in exasperation. After a long heart-to-heart at the end of fourth year, she understood better the point of view of normal house elves from Winky. She may have also accidentally bonded with the elf, as well. "No dismissing of the McGonagall elves. You have my word."

"Anti-apparation wards and only one way flooing between my quarters and the parlor. Only those of my bloodline allowed to enter without expressed permission. Anti-portkey wards, naturally," the woman began to list, and Hermione smiled. "Not to mention all sorts of nasty things for those who try to break in. Layer them well, dear."

"I have those planned and more," Hermione smiled softly. "Will I need to perform the fidelus? And if I do, who do you wish to be secret keeper?"

"The charm is already in place, along with quite a bit of family warding. We are a private people, McGonagalls," Minerva smirked. "As the last survivor of the family, I am the keeper, naturally. How do you wish to communicate, though? I can't imagine that the Order need know about this. At least, not yet. Granted, with the way Remus eyed you tonight, they may be informed far too soon as it stands."

"Hypocritical werewolf, if I ever saw one," the girl growled. "Up in arms about me, when he won't even tell his wife what's happening to her."

"I did notice that as well," a small twitched at the professor's thin lips.

"You are correct, of course. There is much that I will need to tell you, and none of it do I want to be seen by those two," Hermione nodded. She reached into the beaded bag on her hip and withdrew another burgundy journal. Styled much like the other, all but the front logo remained the same. Gold outlined a tabby cat curled about a tawny owl, both appearing asleep. "Do you accept this from me?"

"With pleasure, my dear," genuine warmth suffused the older woman's voice, magic flashed gold. "You are quite the artisan. Well made engravings, quite lovely indeed. Let me guess, another one of my transfiguration journals?"

"Full of incoherent spell structures, formulas, and ramblings," Hermione chirped answered by a laugh.

"Do you have others of those stashed about?" her mentor asked with humor.

"Of course," Hermione replied in kind. "I have one for the boys for when I leave, and a last one for him. I wanted to give it to him tomorrow, as it is Lughnasadh, but I do not know…"

"You feel it, too," Minerva nodded.

She did. That instinctual, gut, purely magical part of her awakened and personified as her inner Goddess did not like the morrow. It told her to enjoy the calm of tonight. To rest, for it will be some time before she is able to. That some great, horrible event will occur. Her only recourse was preparedness. The books to research, journals to note, food, medicine, clothes, pots, pans, everything they would need to live on the run. Even a good chunk of muggle and wizarding money.

"My next chance would be Samhain, to slip it to him," Hermione sighed. "He left before the magic receded. If I knew who he was, without a doubt, I would find a way. As it is, I have a very strong suspicion."

"How sure are you?" the tabby asked, leaning back to watch her protege's expressions.

"When I first hypothesized it, the Goddess purred," her wry response.

"Ah. As sure as you can be without actually seeing him then," chuckled the professor. "And do I get the dubious honor of knowing who has captured your soul so completely?"

"That is the problem," Hermione frowned, looking down at her hands. "It would be complicated, and I cannot express so much as a question without being told I am mad or off my rocker or something worse."

"I see," Minerva pursed her lips together, thinking of all the likely candidates that fit such a mold.

"I believe that my mate is greatly misunderstood by the world as a whole, and have thought so for some time," Hermione continued, not quite hearing. "I have seen and heard things that point more towards the man and magic I mated on Midsummer, but many are blinded by outward appearance and obvious, glaring motives. They do not take the time to sit and think and appreciate. It is like this for everything he does."

"That is not quite the answer I am looking for, lass," the Scotswoman scowled.

"I know," Hermione gave as sheepish grin. "But, until you understand that, and start to think and see that way, I don't want to endanger him further. I trust you, truly I do, but this- this is beyond me Gryffindors are obstinate, and won't accept or change our way of thinking without evidence being thrown into our faces with flashing signs. Even then, it's not a sure thing. I simply ask you look beneath the surface and see what else actions can accomplish. Not just skin deep."

"My, it must be quite the man if he requires all of this," she raised a brow. "I will do as you say, child. Do not fret. In the meantime, I will take up looking at the properties. I have one up north that may just do."

"Thank you so much," the brunette gushed, holding her mentor's hands within her own. "I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You don't have to, dear girl," Minerva smiled softly at the girl. "You are like the daughter I never had. It is not a problem in the least."

Together, the pair of powerful witches stood from the bench. The younger cancelled the charms, as the elder patted down her robes. Sure steps and quiet conversation trailed behind them before they stood upon the threshold of the Burrow. A quick hug and goodnight left Hermione by herself upon kitchen door. Only when she heard the tell-tale crack did she enter the hodgepodge homestead of the Weasley family. Quiet surrounded her, as she walked without a sound into her shared room with Ginny. With such a crucial part to her plan secured, Hermione drifted into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

 **August 1997**

Lughnasadh dawned, warm and rosy. Frantic instructions and harried commands flew through the house even before Hermione fully awoke. Pulling her dressing robe tight against her body, she shuffled down to the worn kitchen table to find it in full chaos. Between the loud sounds, strong breakfast smells, and haphazard, accidental shoves from members of the Weasley clan pushing and shoving about, Hermione felt her stomach turn. It took her several minutes to choke down a piece of plain toast and a weak cup of tea.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny exclaimed, all but tugging the brunette out of her seat. "We can eat after the photos!"

Groaned protests and a spinning head caused Hermione to dart into the loo, complaining about vertigo and not enough food. From then, the redhead girl slowed down just enough to help keep Hermione's stomach down. The ceremony went off without a hitch. Beautiful bride blushed as she glided to the beaming groom, roguishly handsome, scars and all. A traditional handfasting, in the gentler, milder ways of the holiday, ended with a beautiful shower of sparks. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but Hermione fought them back. Their joining would be a happy, fortuitous one, the old gods had blessed them as such.

"It quite lacks something, doesn't it?" the mischievous voice of Augusta Longbottom whispered from her left.

Hermione beamed at her unexpected companion. With the end of the ceremony came the cocktail hour and mingling. The young witch happily sat herself with the strict woman before her. They chatted for quite some time, simply catching up on gossip and the going ons of the wizarding war. At some point, they migrated towards a back table, watching everyone else laugh and wait for the newly married couple to emerge.

"I can see the Goddess is awake and well within you, child," Augusta murmured, eyes upon the crowd. "Minerva told me of your predicament. I hope you don't punish the old dear too harshly. Do I get one of your fanciful journals, as well? Or have I been left out of the club, hm?"

"You know you get one, Augusta," Hermione blushed at her forgetfulness, a hand fishing through her handbag. "Here it is, plum with a golden lioness. Did she tell you everything?"

"Indeed, she did," the older woman gave a pointed look at Hermione. "I had hoped you would trust us enough to simply inform us of your guess, as to better ascertain and judge the individual."

"Then you know her clues," Hermione snorted. "I say the same to you, Madam. Once you both can think the way I need you to, I will give you heavier hints. I sincerely hope it will be sooner rather later. It will make everything go far quicker."

"As you say, young one," a sigh whooshed from Augusta. "I will be accompanying Minerva on the hunt for your future homestead. Be careful, child. The Goddess is anxious today."

"That she is," Hermione murmured as she watched Bill and Fleur enter, flushed and happily smiling. "You are right, though. The ceremony truly did lack something fundamental."

With a parting, knowing smirk, Hermione gracefully excused herself. Gait gliding, head held high, she made her way towards Harry, Ginny, and Ron. The rest of the evening passed in an enjoyable blur. Viktor surprised her by taking a few turns on the dance floor. At one point, Ron fumbled around with her in his endearing yet clumsy manner. Harry stood up to dance with her as well as Mr. Lovegood, who remarked about her lovely, glowing aura and complimented her on the brilliance of her inner Goddess. She even shared a girl's dance with Ginny and Luna.

In the middle of her dance with the ever elegant and well practiced Neville, the world crashed down around her. A silvery lynx pounced onto the middle of the dance floor, causing Neville to jump and squeeze Hermione too tight. His booming bass rung out, "The ministry has fallen! They are coming!", and panic ensued. In the chaos, Ron and Harry appeared in her path, and, by some miracle they escaped to Tottenham Court, amongst the muggles. She handed out clothes, and gave instructions to her boys, all the while a single thought echoed in her mind.

 _It has finally begun._


	3. Idiot's Guide to Acquiring a Horcrux

**August 1997**

Warm rays of light began to warm the dank, dark House of Black. The previous night flooded her mind, torrential and dark. He had not been there, which only slightly lightened her mood. Yet, between the wretched house elf, Ron's apparent interest in her, and the fall of her world, Hermione could not sleep. Instead, she looked at the journals strew across the desk. Her two matching journals, both similar yet different, stared at her. From the phoenix book, Kingsley detailed the ongoing changes within the ministry. Cinnamon eyes read through the scrawl of the dark man for the umpteenth time.

 _ **It was the quietest coup I've ever heard of,**_ Kingsley wrote. _**One minute, we hear Scrimgeor passed, the next they announced Pius Thicknesse as the replacement. At the announcement, I ran into my office, warded it, and sent off my patronus. The changes that are coming down the pipeline, and rather fast, are nasty. A muggle-born registry, where they put witches and wizards on trial for stealing other's magic.**_ Hermione scoffed at the ignorance and stupidity of such a mandate **.** _ **Rumor has it that it'll be headed by Dolores Umbridge. They've set up an Undesirable List, which Harry tops, followed by Hermione and Ron, naturally, and are strictly regulating and watching portkeys and floo. In addition, we have reason to believe they have set up a taboo on the name "Voldemort," to catch us easier. The other bit of news is one the Order will not be pleased to hear, not that there is much pleasant about today. The Ministry plans to install Snape as the next headmaster of Hogwarts, may the gods be with us. Be careful. Be safe. Above all, be smart.**_

Underneath the rather expansive paragraph, Remus' tight script enquired about the security of the various safe houses, which places would be protected, which needed new wards to replace the ministry applied protections. Here, Hermione added her thoughts and light to light grey wards she researched for herself. While a few were discarded, many were accepted and plans were made to get warding parties started at dawn. In addition, a general rant of Snape's many flaws and faults were exchanged in exhausting detail.

 _ **I can positively report that every Order member, direct and sympathizer, are safe and protected,**_ Remus wrote around three in the morning. _**The guests have all found refuge in confirmed safe and protected houses, and will remain there until the warding parties have visited and reinforced existing protections. I take it that you are all safe, Hermione? No problems on your end?**_

With a shake of her head, Hermione read her short response. _**Nothing we couldn't handle. Inadvertently broke the taboo, but we oblivated the DEs that came to us. We are holed up and safe at the moment.**_ The three Order members were smart enough to not inquire where the three teenagers resided. Not that Hermione would tell them even if they did.

A general round of relief came from the journal, as the various writers went to rest for the time being. This, however, did not conclude her correspondence for the night. Instead, her little black book chimed even as the morning sun poked it's head above the horizon. Weak light shone upon the golden art of a lioness, tabby cat, and tawny owl sleeping in an elegant heap as only cats and owls can achieve. It started with Augusta demanding to know if they were safe -which Hermione reassured the older woman. Then, Minerva began to write, asking if they needed anything, if one of the house elves could provide anything for them. This prompted Hermione to reply, quite tartly, that they had one overly grumpy elf here.

The worry bled into gossip -who attended the wedding, who danced with each other, their dresses and robes, anything the two, old biddies could think of to distract themselves and Hermione from the horrible night. Eventually, talk turned to future and what things could be accomplished within the next few days of confusion, before Voldemort had full power over the ministry and things were still in chaos.

 _ **And what about you, darling, you haven't said a word about your needs. Do you have everything you require? For your health and that of the boys, of course? Food? Preserved things?**_ This Minerva wrote, her long, loopy script upon the page.

 _ **I have enough health supplements and nutritional tonics to last at least a year with proper dosing. We may get hungry or crave food at some point, but we will be well enough to function for quite some time,**_ Hermione's handwriting answered. _**In the meantime, I'm working on a new spell that I hope will help the boys later on.**_

It was seven in the morning before Hermione could finally nod off to sleep.

oOo oOo oOo

The first few weeks in Grimmauld Place passed in restless quiet. They were doing everything they could to locate the missing horcrux. It wasn't until Hermione, armed with her knowledge of elves and the ancient magics that bound them to humans and vise versa, confronted Kreacher did they make progress. In the meantime, as the boys grumbled about bad luck and did little to help the situation, Hermione worked on her containment spell.

Three weeks into their forced confinement, Harry found her tinkering with her spell, frowning in concentration. Sharp, emerald eyes watched with rapt interest as she muttered and jabbed at the orange, hoping for some change. Within the last week, when Hermione had her breakthrough with Kreacher and now, the elf developed a soft spot for the brunette.

"Whatcha doing, Hermione?" Harry finally dared to ask.

"Making a spell," the young woman in question answered while distracted.

"To do what?" He asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"To contain the harmful magic of the horcrux," Hermione responded before the bubble broke and she swore.

"Colorful language there, 'Mione," her friend teased.

"It's just, this is important," she grumbled, leaning back in her chair. "Horcuxes are nasty, and they do more than just hold a soul. There are records of them bringing out all the negative emotions and magnifying them, taking root in those of weak wills especially." Both gave a surreptitious glance up to the room that Ron claimed, before turning to one another with identical guilty, sheepish grins. "In addition, they can deteriorate your health, suck your magic, and possess you if you let them stay on you too long. The idea with this spell is to make a mobile bubble that holds back all of those things so it's easier to hide and keep without all the nasty side effects."

"That… sounds like a brilliant idea," the mop haired boy blinked, amazed and awed. "How have you managed thus far?"

"I can get the charm to hold for at least a week," a slender finger pointed to a dark arts book from the library, "However, I can't get it any tighter than this," she motioned at the orange surrounded by a magical film several inches from the skin. "The idea is to have it cling to the surface, so nothing can escape."

"How can I help?" Harry asked, earnest and hopeful to be of use.

"Here, hold this for me, and let's see how this goes," she began.

Hours passed without seeing Ron as the two friends worked hard. While the containment bubble held closer to the surface than after lunch, nothing else had improved. Certain spells still pierced the bubble, and they came into the kitchen with animated conversation. Within, a sneering Ron greeted them with his typical passive aggressive remark about how _cosy_ they looked, how _happy_ they seemed.

"We were working on a spell to contain the horcrux, Ron," Hermione crisply announced, taking none of his mood on top of everything else. "You are more than welcome to do more than read old muggle comics and sleep."

Needless to say, that did not go over well with the youngest Weasley. He pouted for the rest of the night and into the next morning. He took his comics into the library the next day, and ignored the two working Gryffindors as if to chaperone the pair. Hermione simply rolled her eyes and worked on the proper arithmancy equations while Harry worked on his assigned 'homework.' Between the two of them, they had a potential list drafted of likely places horcruxes could, and what they may, be. All the while, Ron muttered to himself incomprehensibly, taking a nap after lunch, and not even bothering to return to the library once satisfied his best mate wasn't making a move on 'his girl.'

"Did he really say that?" Hermione sighed, a mixture of exasperation and irritation.

"On Merlin's soul," Harry chuckled. "Something about how I already had Gin, and that should be enough for me, and not to steal this one thing from him."

"He is remarkably self absorbed," Hermione idly remarked before she cast the containment spell upon a small quaffle. "I take back what I said in fourth year. The teaspoon has a larger emotional range than he does. It was an insult to silverware everywhere."

Harry let out a loud, gleeful laugh, "You're horrible, Hermione!"

"No, I'm dead honest," she smirked. "There's a difference. As it stands, I cannot picture myself with someone who doesn't trust me, let alone thinks everything is all about him. Ronald blew his chance with me last year when he used another girl, who he knew has bullied me since first year, to make me jealous or some tosh."

"Now tell us how you really feel, Hermione," Harry chuckled once more, before sending a spell at random to see the results. "Holds up against the reductor again, but not as tight as your last concoction, oh mad scientist Granger."

"Really," she snorted, a wry smile touching her lips. She added without conscious thought, "You know, if I didn't see the spells on the side of the Prince's journal last year, I never would have thought to try and make my own spells from scratch. I knew how to infuse and mix spells, easy enough once you have the basics, but to create one from nothing? That thought never occurred to me before."

"At least some good came of that thing," her friend spat, room suddenly cold.

"Come on, you got the felix felicis as well, no need to be so bitter about cheating to beat the rest of us," the young woman remarked, hoping to relieve her friend of unnecessary tension.

"Well, when you put it that way," Harry allowed himself to be dragged out of the bad mood, not pursuing that avenue of loathing.

The rollercoaster of emotions that came with living with two teenaged boys took it's toll on Hermione. Harry noticed, and sent her to bed with promises of food delivered by Kreacher. With a bit of poking and prodding, the brunette turned toward the stairs and went to the shower. Hot, stinging water fell upon her person, soothing her aching, tired muscles. Hand lathered and rinsed soap and shampoo, applying conditioner, and she stared at herself with a deep sigh. Time, as she knew, grew shorter with each moment spent here. She wanted to set up her boys for the best possible chance of success. Hermione hoped she accomplished enough.

A strangled gasp broke the customary silence of the morning. On the morning edition of the prophet stood Dolores Umbridge, proud and puffed with her own self importance and power. Around her neck hung the very necklace they desired, and they all knew what stupid steps they had to do next. With a clear goal, the three set about feverishly planning the next move. For the first time since they arrived in Grimmauld, Ron contributed.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall sat in the staff room, glaring daggers at the dark wizard at the head of the table. She shuddered to imagine what horrors would befall their children with the Carrows in charge of discipline of all things. It didn't help that the wretched man decided, quite on his own, to take control of the syllabi and actual punishments outside of House points. Honestly, how humiliating to be stripped of her rightful power.

As his rich baritone drawled with the ease of an aristocrat, red painted her vision. Sarcastic barbs, acidic remarks, and painful retorts colored the otherwise surprisingly normal pre-school staff meeting. Housekeeping items were ticked off with greater efficiency than Minerva remembered. Budgets were handed out, resources properly allocated when all was said and done.

Sharp eyes looked up once more, and took in the looks of perplexed surprise. They were ready for a fight, to mutiny, and yet, there was nothing truly objectionable outside of the obvious teaching appointments which the new Headmaster most likely did not have a say in. Curiouser and curiouser, the Carrows appeared to have tuned out the sallow skinned man's meeting. The more apparent their disinterest, the more odd the subjects. Everything from formal patrols, staff and student alike, always in pairs with someone from another House. The explicit privileges of prefects and Heads, with the strict, uniform punishments for infractions, all made the staff frown.

The Carrows, idiotic and imbecilic as they were, saw the confused, upset staff and snickered, thinking their Lord's choice in Headmaster excellent. They took in nothing of the words, and knew nothing other than the strict, almost militant standards he expected of the students and staff. However, what they couldn't know, was the fact that these rules were always in place. That he created nothing new, simply reinforced, quite pointedly and acerbically, what was always expected. Apart from no-nonsense efficiency and lack of sweets and easy chatter, Minerva could almost believe it to be the beginning of any other year.

Under the insults to all the Houses, even the hidden dig at Slytherin once as Snape was well known to do at times in the staff room previously, the underlying message was quite about control. Monitor behavior, try to nip trouble in the bud, do not give the Carrows more reasons than they already had to harm the students. Reinforce the message of not being found if out of bounds. Rule with a firm hand when necessary, and, above all else, do not tickle the sleeping dragon. The warning, too, glared clearly in their faces: if any true discipline made it to him, Snape had no way to soften the blow.

In a haze of befuddlement, the staff meeting broke up. Sharp and abrupt as always, the new headmaster swept out of the room in dramatic fashion, the two death eather cronies cackling behind. For a few moments, no one moved. Filius stared at Pomona who, in turn, gazed in wonder at the potted tree in the corner of the staff room. Vector and Babbling frowned at one another, and even Sinistra and the dotty Trelawney looked pensive.

"Did that just…?" Filius began, looking imploringly at the transfiguration mistress.

"I think he warned us," Septima finished. "Damn Slytherin plays the bastard so well, I can't tell if he was serious or not."

"So, what do we do now?" Pomona muttered, looking around the room. "We obviously can't mutiny, not if the boy is trying to keep us on our guard and _help_ us."

"Nor can we be nice to him," frowned Aurora. "He killed Professor Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake! Are we all conveniently forgetting that fact?"

"But there was something wrong with Albus all of last term, if you remember," Filius frowned. "Not that it makes the act any less reprehensible, but Albus was a slippery one. Has he spoken to anyone?"

All eyes shot to Minerva, who pinched her lips and thought hard. The few times she went to the office after Albus Dumbledore's death, the portrait remained resolutely silent. What more, every time she stood just beyond the door, she could hear the portraits, many of them, in fact, berating her previous boss. His placating, calming tenor would answer them. While she could hear no words, Albus evaded any staff member with obvious intent, which caused Minerva's built in 'highly classified secret' alarm to mentally sound.

"They were fighting quite a lot last year," Pomona murmured, a small frown on her face. "In fact, Hagrid and I heard their raised voices sometime last winter out across the grounds. Severus may not have liked Albus, but to kill him? Knowing the great clod, Albus knows more than he is letting on."

"And getting Severus to talk is like pulling teeth from a chimera," grumbled Filius.

"Especially if this is something Albus wanted, and Severus felt he deserved it," Minerva sighed. "Make no mistake, the old man is awake and kicking in his portrait. I've heard him. Every time I enter, he pretends to be asleep."

"So, where does that leave us?" Pomona frowned, looking at her fellow teachers. "We know Albus had a hand in this-"

"No surprise," Aurora Sinistra snorted.

"-And we know that Severus is the closest to He-Who-Can-Rot-In-Hell," the normally placid woman growled to Minerva's great amusement. "He is leading this school, whether any of us like it or not, and there is absolutely nothing that says he didn't do it for any other reason than the obvious. At the same time, he all but outlined what he considers the most important rules, and all but begged us to keep the students out of trouble."

"I wish we could still discipline and monitor our own students, though," Filius sighed. "At least as heads of House, that would be nice. It feels like he is robbing us all of power, and making it easier for others to walk all over us."

"But the Carrows have to send in their discipline requests to the Headmaster as well," Bathsheba pointed out. "At this point, I vote we take a 'wait and see' approach. We do not act any different, but we do as he asks. Whatever his reasons for murdering Professor Dumbledore, he appears to have the safety of the children at heart for this term, and I can agree with him on that point."

"Not to mention," Aurora added, Slytherin gleam in her eye, "as long as we remain here and teach, we are still valuable. As soon as that changes, it is likely we will be killed or chased off. Discretion is the better part of valor here, ladies and gentlemen."

Hours later, as the sun set for the night, Minerva reflected upon the day's events. In her hand was her approved syllabus, few marks added. The only notations were to keep her large, Gryffindor nose where it belongs and to not ask leading questions, and to keep her house from openly rebelling against the faculty. He threatened her job, and her position as Head of House, with a few, well chosen, acidic remarks.

Minerva fancied she could understand Hermione's perception of people, as she gazed at the offensive, red ink. Anyone reading this would think it a castigation, condescension and patronization at it's finest. Yet, underneath, there were many ways one could take this. An advance alert to keep her House from overt punishment, to keep her head down, and to weather the storm to come. Burgundy journals rested upon her cherry desk, and moment of indecision gripped the Professor. It would not due to rouse suspicion against Snape's allegiances just yet. _Give it a few weeks, Minnie, ol' girl. If this is more than just the work of a day, to keep us from rebelling against him, then I'll talk Hermione._

With that in mind, she retreated to her sitting room and curled up to read a good book before heading to bed for the night.

 **September 1997**

By the third of September, the trio had a plan. Reckless, ridiculous, and absolutely mad, they no longer cared. Pass the point of desperation, they had worked together to come to this neat, terrifying conclusion. It would take about two weeks, give or take, to properly prepare, observe, and execute, but they now had a timeline, a working deadline.

Oddly quiet through most of August, the Order journal chimed with odd questions left unanswered, and pleas to be safe and take care, to seek help if necessary. However, Hermione calculated the risk. They could not bring anyone else in on the plan. Reconnaissance and recovery were the key words to the scheme, and everyone knew the more Gryffindors together, the more reckless they would be. Nor would Remus entertain the idea of sending his pregnant wife into the ministry to help. Hermione snorted at his high handed 'concern' for her safety.

 _ **I thank you for my part of the worry, but please, we both know you don't truly trust me at this moment, Remus. To pretend otherwise at this point is merely superfluous and rather condescending**_ _,_ she had wrote. In her other journal, Minerva outright laughed at her gutsy return. Hermione continued with, _**The boys and I will be executing a rather risky plan and wish for as few people in on it as possible. By the end of September, you will know some of it. We are taking every precaution necessary.**_ She explained the exit plan, without going into detail, and found that Kingsley had the most pertinent bit of advice.

 _ **Be sure to apparate to several different locations before returning to your base.**_ He instructed. _**Make them different for each one of you, and make them timed and random. You don't want anyone following you to your safe house and making you flee.**_

Exhausted, as she always felt those days, Hermione settled back in her chair, deep in thought. They couldn't do anything more than plan, and planning would be quite tedious. The boys were working out their surveillance schedule, which Hermione requested to be left out of as she worked on perfecting the containment charm. She asked Minerva to speak with Professor Flitwick, and see if he'd have any amazing insights.

Thus far, the minute tweaks gleaned from the half dwarf helped bring the bubble closer. Tinkering away with the spell equation, she hoped that it would be the correct combination. Nothing seemed to work, and the longer this went, the longer she would be with that thing wreaking havoc on her boys. It didn't help that Ron acted the petulant child earlier, or that Harry began to catch cabin fever from him. Nor did her body cooperate, feeling achy and sore the whole day. A soak and to lay down in bed were her only wishes at this point, but she pressed on.

Amidst the burning candle light, illuminating the room with their warm, orange light, a groan announced her settling back into the stuffed, winged chair. Fingers flicked and, with an exhausted glee, the pages of equations floated around her. Try as she might, her yawns became more pronounced. Eyes sluggishly followed a complex neutralizing charm until she blinked.

The dark, inky sky twinkled above in their merry dance as night creatures wove their comforting song. Distant laughter and music trickled through the balmy night air. A warm, distinctly masculine body cradled her own, his warmth relaxing her aches and pains. The same quilt from the festival draped over them as their arms twined together on top. For a moment, there was only silence. As with the festival, Hermione did not consciously control her actions; she experienced them. Her head would not crane as she wished, nor would words come forth, though she wished to talk and question.

Instead, her body molded to his, quivering with each lazy stroke up and down her covered form. The Goddess purred and preened as her God followed each curve, each valley with equal attention. Eyes closed in relaxed contentment, and neck bent to one side, allowing him greater access to nuzzle. A smug, feline smile bloomed upon her face as the man radiated acceptance, affection, and satisfaction. One arm held her, firm and possessive, as the other continued to roam.

"I see you approve of me still," Hermione's voice murmured in the thrice twined voice of the Goddess.

"How could I ever not?" His rumbled response as his hand settled to merely stroke the same place.

"A woman never knows if one night pleases, and the next night disappoints," she murmured, head turned to whisper in his ear.

"You have not displeased me," he tightened his hold on her for a moment. "Not in this, nor any form."

For a time, they laid together, listening to the night's symphony. Her fingers tangled with his, the steady beat of his heart lulling her to sleep. Yet, Hermione's Goddess did not quite succumb to the night's enchantments. As their joint minds whirled as one, she felt his sighs and gentle attentions. A light flashed to life in her mind's eye. A hidden smile tugged at her lips as she nuzzled him in return, flushed with a secret unearthed.

"I know your deepest desire, my God," her Goddess whispered. His sudden still tension caused her to pause for a moment, before she continued, "And it will be my greatest pleasure to grant it, should you claim me as your own."

A few minutes of quiet tension passed as the man weighed her words within his mind. Slowly, and under her affectionate ministrations, did he relax once more. The smile never left her face as her thoughts began to slow down once more. A deep, rumbling sigh whooshed by her neck as she felt him hold her close, his nose buried in her hair.

"And it will be nothing but my greatest wish to do so," his soft voice reverberated through his chest into her back.

"So mote it be, my God," she replied, equally quiet and solemn.

His hold tightened around her in answer. The pleasant sensation of warmth and protection curled around her being so complete that Hermione marveled. She wished the moment to last for an eternity, yet knew it as fragile as gossamer. Soon, the calm serenity caught up with Hermione. Safe, accepted and desired, she fell into a deep sleep to the sound of crickets and far off laughter, wrapped in the arms of her own God.

oOo oOo oOo

The next morning greeted her as depressingly mundane. Gone was the firefly darkness, balmy, summer breeze, and all consuming magic of the festival. Instead, she found a particularly worried Harry and irritable Ron. The morning followed the same cadence as the previous weeks past. Research and planning in the library, followed by lunch. This day, they worked out where and how many jumps each person would need to make before deemed 'safe.'

This followed with more experimentation of the containment charm. Then tea, as an overly solicitous Kreacher affectionately took care of Harry and Hermione while tolerating the 'ill behaved Weasley boy.' Hermione couldn't agree more, yet said nothing. By the evening, thoroughly overworked, the boys retired to the front sitting room while Hermione remained in the library.

She regarded her journals, set upon the desk with great care. The Order knew nothing of importance or value that would help them with this task. She already received the pertinent information from Kingsley and Tonks. There was little else that needed to be done on that front. She wrote her daily report, as dull and unchanging as the others. Words of thanks and updates on other fronts scripted into existence. Minerva provided the Hogwarts front, as Remus relayed what endeavors the others took.

What Hermione really wanted to know would not lay in the black phoenix journal. She turned towards her own journal. Golden lines danced in the light of the fire, contemplating her oddly lucid dream the night previous. It felt real, as if something transported her from right here, right now, to their cosy clearing in the festival grounds. Yet, she awoke with nothing more than desire and the lingering relaxed contentment.

 _ **I have a question**_ _,_ Hermione began.

 _ **I never would have guessed**_ _,_ Minerva's loopy script responded a moment later.

A wry smile painted Hermione's face as she leaned over the journal. She wrote. About her dream, what happened, suddenly _knowing_ something like that about another person. _**If I am right about who he is**_ , Hermione wrote, _**Then this is both surprising and a bit like an invasion of privacy. Thinking about it, you would never know that he would want something like this. Then again, looking deeper, this is just the type of thing he would want. It's all rather convoluted and confusing, though.**_

 _ **You say you went a the Midsummer dreamscape, yes?**_ Augusta asked after a moment.

 _ **Yes. It felt so real,**_ she replied.

 _ **And your Goddess interacted with his Dark God,**_ the elder Longbottom summarized.

 _ **It was quite lovely,**_ the young, brunette woman blushed as she wrote. _**To realize that kind of relationship, to live it, would be a dream come true.**_

 _ **Aye, and it is within your reach, lass,**_ Minerva's writing answered. _**The type of dream you are having is as real as these journals. Your God and yourself need to connect before the next holiday, and the ancient magics know and accept this. This is their way of bringing you two together. What people don't understand is that the bonds between a Dark God and Goddess is desired. It brings more pure magic into the world, strengthens the natural leys, and produces more magical beings. By making the union something we desire, the ancient magic is continuing and strengthening itself. In turn, it will protect and enrich the lives of their bonded couples.**_

 _ **What Minerva leave out, Hermione,**_ Augusta chimed in not long afterwards, _**Is the fact that all magical bindings are some derivative of the original vows. Through every magical marriage, a facsimile of the protection and harmony is invoked. Most modern day bindings, such as Weasley hand-fasting we attended, only brings about the minimal amount of power needed. What you would share with your Dark God, should he accept you as you have him, will be far more powerful, with farther reaching consequences. My Edmund and I were much the same as you and your mate. Needed a bit of a push.**_

 _ **Don't worry, lass. All will be well on this front, I am sure. What you learn in your dreams are very real, and usually very private,**_ the tabby cat added after a few moments. _**If it makes you feel any better, he will grow to know and understand you on such a private level through these dreams as well. Mate of magic are what inspired the myths of soul mates. Everything will align just so.**_

Hermione leaned back and thought about what she learned. It made an odd sort of sense, despite everything else. Magic was energy, and energy circulated through things. When the ley lines and ancient magics made another magical being, it requires something in return to replenish the energy used to create said being. Modern day bindings do not generate the amount of raw power needed to replace what was lost, and thus often results in less magic being present in children resulting from the union.

Stronger bindings were rarely used, as they required things like fidelity and protection. Paring down on these ties resulted in weaker magic being present, both in the marriage bond and the offspring. Of those who still practiced the older bindings, most notably were families like the Malfoys. Even then, ignoring the traditional feasts and festivals as plebeian and beneath them made conception and healthy pregnancies hard to come by, with the children born a mix of decently powerful and pitiful, if not outright squibs.

 _ **What do I do if he rejects me in the end?**_ Hermione chewed her lower lip as she waited for a reply.

 _ **Then you disappear. We will make it happen, if you need it,**_ Augusta stated, frank and bold. _**Those of pure magic will always be accepted in the right places. Keep on creating those spells you are so good at, and you will find a home anywhere.**_

With a final good night to both of the women, Hermione closed her journal and leaned back in her wingback chair. Thoughts swirled in and out of her mind as she thought about the consequences. Young though she was, Hermione knew what she wanted out of life. Before the ministry disappointed her, she saw a quiet, ordinary outcome, finally catching Ron's eye, marrying a few years out of Hogwarts, working in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, having a couple children, before growing old together. After the Umbridge fiasco, ministry work did not appeal to her. Instead, a life in academia called to her, though the rest stayed the same.

Now, though, she looked past all those and saw a journey that enticed her. To join with her mate, to get through this war, and, together, make a new life. Where and what they would do depended on the outcome. And him. Hermione knew none other would satisfy her, that she would take no other lover. The certainty scared her. It excited her. Curls splayed upon a pillow, and all other thoughts turned to dust.

oOo oOo oOo

Days flew by faster than Hermione would have liked. Between the boys, her spells, and her correspondences, the sun set came sooner each day. She dreamed of him again, though nothing but the sound of music and the feel of his hands followed her from Morpheus' realm. Three days before their planned excursion, the trio sat around the kitchen table, a meaty shepherd's pie out before them. Each bite tasted like heaven, a soft delighted sigh left her before she heard snickering.

"What?" she hunched defensively over her food.

"Like your food tonight, Hermione?" Harry grinned at the girl.

"It's good, why?" she asked, frowning at the teen.

"So good you want to marry it?" An equally amused Ron asked.

"Well, it'd be more considerate than some people who will remain unnamed," Hermione sniffed, turning towards her plate once more.

"Be careful there, you might gain some weight," Ron snarked.

"No need to be nasty," the witch muttered before shoveling another bite into her mouth.

"It's alright, mate," Harry hummed, eyes twinkling, "Not all of us are as rich or juicy as this pie."

This drew a reluctant laugh from the bickering pair, as dinner continued. Hunched over the table, a self conscious hand ran over her abdomen. A single, frustrated sigh quickly followed, self castigating her lack of self-esteem. The meal ended in much the same way, bickering occasionally, but always ending with a smile. Kreacher served tea as Harry smoothed out the map, and Hermione brought out her lists.

Every day after supper, they ran through the plan, as they called it. Hermione produced the three vials of polyjuice, assembling a 'kit' for each person, complete with a change of clothes, Harry's glasses, and a portkey to the inside of Hermione's old house, which she warded. Hermione, disguised as Umbrige's assistant, would go into her office, duplicate the locket, take any incriminating information, and get out. Harry and Ron would gather more information for the Order, sleuthing into different areas, and hoping to cover more ground.

Soon, the mid September morning dawned, bright and crisp. Gathered at the wooden table, the boys sat catatonic. Hermione hummed to herself, being suffused with the warmth of a lucid dream, as she stirred her tea. Grunts and grumbles answered her questions, as they went to get ready. The witch clucked and shook her head, thumbing through the Prophet for anything interesting.

"Are you both ready?" She asked half an hour later, when Ron finally stumbled downstairs.

"Let's just get this over with," the redhead groaned.

"Right," Harry nodded, awake and alert. "Remember our way points before coming back here."

"And be sure to take your bags, in case we get separated and can't come back here," Hermione added, handing out the packed satchels. "Also, don't be a hero. Get out as soon as you feel the polyjuice start to run out. We don't need to make a media storm."

"Yes, mum," Ron rolled his eyes.

"Don't forget to wash behind your ears," she stuck her tongue out at the boy, before twirling away.

As one, they apparated to the alley by the telephone booth. Squashed under the invisibility cloak, they waited. And waited. For twenty minutes, people appeared and disappeared, though none were their marks. The first to arrive was Harry's, who promptly hit the ground and levitated behind a corner. Next, Hermione's decoy, and finally, Ron's. Bound and asleep, the trio looked and frowned at one another, stripped their targets, and prepared the potions.

"Bottom's up," Harry grinned and downed his vial.

The distinctive bubbling and twisting of polyjuice always left Hermione's skin crawling. Yet, she fit into the odd work robe that resembled a skirt suit. With a shrug, she and the boys took the ID's, pinned them and entered the phone booth. Uncomfortable conversation followed, ministry workers pushing and pulling them in all ways. As they entered the Atrium, Hermione heard Ron yelp about his wife, tugged away by a low ranking Death Eater to 'perform his duties.' Harry went into the lift on his way towards Umbrige's office, just in case it was there. For her part, a voice she could have lived without hearing again called out.

"Martha! There you are, almost late for the first of the day's hearings, dear, that won't do," the saccharine sweet tones of Dolores Umbridge grated upon her nerves. "Now, here is the case list and files, I expect you to be taking excellent notes. We have some very well known muggle-borns attending today."

"Of course, Madam," Hermione demurred, head down as she followed the toad woman deeper into the bowels of the Ministry.

"Remember, the creatures we see today are nothing but magic stealing miscreants," the woman continued, as if Hermione didn't exist. "Those who read 'pure' really know how to fool our spells, but worry not dear, that is why we are here. Ah, and here are the results of the blood parchments, don't drop them now."

"Yes, Madam," her answer, trying to keep a growing smile off her face.

"And, of course, once we have a verdict, you place them to be filed away good and proper. Make sure give a few of the blank blood parchments to the guards. They know how to administer the tests, of course. A drop of blood is never too hard to receive. The folders with red tabs are from yesterday night. Be sure to look over and file those lunch."

 _Demanding bitch, aren't you?_ Hermione thought, only nodding before entering the courtroom. Spartan as every other government building, the stark lighting cast harsh shadows across the room. Striding through the middle, Umbridge appeared more out of place than ever, happily chatting to Hermione the whole way. When they settled in for the first case, a quick glance reassured her that the locket lay in open sight. Deft fingers moved through the pile of folders, and found her own, tabbed in red and ready to be filed.

"Send in the first person on the list, Salvidor," Umbridge called out.

Fingers opened the requisite file and handed it to the hideous woman next to her. As the court proceedings went, a disgusting caricature, fingers lifted and read her own records. Everything appeared in order, all documents open that needed to be, others resolutely sealed until an appropriate time. Hermione glanced to the side and nearly wretched at the sight of near orgasmic pleasure Umbridge wore as the woman in the center of the chamber begged to not be carted off to Azkaban. Surreptitiously, a small pile of empty blood parchments fluttered to the ground.

"I'm sorry, Madam Umbridge," she mumbled, bending over just as the woman next to her bent to pick up what strayed across her.

In a moment of Gryffindor recklessness, Hermione bumped into the toad. On the way down to retrieve the fallen papers, a deft motion hooked the chain as she 'accidentally' cut herself. Platitudes and apologies spewed forth from the polyjuiced witch as the other bumbled and threatened in her oh-so-nice way. During a part of the lecture, Hermione replicated the locket, handing the fake to Umbridge, before leaving to 'file' the proper papers.

Erratic beats thumped in her throat, horcrux slid into the front of her pocket. She walked into the Hall of Records, and took a moment to regroup. A mental inventory revealed Hermione still had time to look more thoroughly. Eyes ate up the information, though most were known to her. Many of the inner circle of the Order were within the pile, including her own. With a lack of blood parchment. She gathered one of the bloodied pieces of paper, displaying all pertinent information, and placed it within her official files to be sealed away. A small grin tugged at the corner of her mouth.

With moments to spare, Hermione squeezed her way to the Atrium, saying something about catching ill. Ducking and weaving, she felt oddly like a salmon fighting upstream. Head down, feet hurried to the nearest lift, and left. Inside, one of the men, someone she remembered from the misguided attempt to find Sirius just years ago, tried to chat her up. She stumbled and mumbled, trying to get as far away from the man as possible. Thankfully, he took in her green face and accepted her story of coming down with a violent bit of illness and not wanting to spread it.

She dashed out of the phone booth, and around the corner where. A couple flicks of her wand redressed the woman in her own clothes, putting Hermione into a different outfit entirely. Seeing the other two there, and unclothed, did nothing for her troubled state of mind, and, with a crack, she was off. First to Tottenham Court, past the hustle and bustle of shops and cafes. In an alley behind one such shop, a crack led her to the subdivision where her grandparents used to live. Down green arched, familiar lanes, Hermione strolled in placid silence. Turn to the left, and she left without a trace to a town in the north of England her family used to vacation.

One, final pull through the ether released Hermione upon the doorstep of 12 Grimmauld Place in tact, and with no hanger ons. Eggs on face followed her disillusionment charm before she stepped over the threshold. Silence laid over the hardwood floors and dank, depressing walls. She creaked into the parlor, and found no one. Sneaking to the best of her ability throughout the house, Hermione finally settled within the library, strong wards in place over the front and back entrances and library door.

Without even a clock to watch, Hermione sunk back into her chair. Taking out the innocuous locket, she placed it on the table. According to her calculations, the charm she developed would hold for some time, though not impervious to all the spells she wanted. A deep breath in to center the mind, and long exhale calmed her mind into a serviceable space. Vinewood swished and jabbed at the locket, spell on her tongue. Opalescent light constricted and contoured around the object until completely coated, flashing for a moment, the spell faded into a barely noticeable film.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour, echoing through the quiet house. Panic gripped her mind for a moment. The boys were not supposed to be out this long, they were supposed to be back by now. A gulping swallow slid down her dry throat as she settled down to wait, actual journal in her hand as she observed the results. Halfway through a diagnostic spell, her wards on the front door registered the entrance of two people. Laughter and jubilation, the likes of which often followed a well played - dangerous, yet victorious- game of quidditch, overtook the silence.

Hermione stood ready, disillusioned and defensive, when the two boys crashed into the library with nary a worry. Within a second, both were stuck and bound to the walls, gagged and blindfolded.


	4. My Not-So-Dirty Little Secret

**September 1997**

A voice modifying spell later, as well as a few basic disguise charms, and Hermione stood ready. Doubts and worry sifted through her mind. What if it really was her boys returned? What not? If they were imperioused? Teeth nibbled her bottom lip as she moved forward. She deafened one, Ron, the trusting side of her thought, and ungagged the other.

"Tell me something only the real Harry Potter knows about me," she demanded, not daring to take chances.

"Goddammit, Hermione," Harry coughed, "You can warn a bloke!"

"I will ask you once more, what is something only the real you would know about me?" her voice stony. Horror scenarios like this plagued her nightmares in the past, and she would be damned if she accepted him without such a measure. "If you truly are Harry, you'd know why this is important."

"Bloody hell, woman," he grumbled, "Uh, your patronus is an otter!"

"Anyone in the DA, including Edgecomb, knows that," she pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Uh, you hate snow peas," he tried again. Taking her unamused silence as rejection to that, the messy haired teen went, "Your animagus. It's a large, tawny owl."

She let out a relieved sigh and unbound her friend with a hug.

"Bloody hell, scared me right good," mumbled her best friend as he affectionately ruffled her hair.

"You both were gone for so long, I didn't know what happened. I couldn't take any chances," Hermione gave a sheepish smile before turning towards the redhead. "He can't hear a word we're saying. Are you sure it's Ron?"

"Yes, I'm sure, Hermione," Harry rolled his eyes, exasperated and fond.

"Did you check?" She raised a brow in question.

"Well, no," he frowned. "But he knew his apparation sites."

"Any legilimens could have read that off of him," Hermione challenged.

"He mentioned our conversation at dinner the other day?" the wizard answered, obviously unsure of the validity.

"Let's just get this over with," Hermione sighed and ungagged the bound wizard. Another flick, and he could hear again. "Before you blow up, what is something that only the real Ronald Weasley would know about me?"

"Merlin's bloody balls, Hermione," Ron whimpered. "Can't just say hello like a normal person, no, you have to bloody well bind and gag us!"

"That's what I said," Harry exclaimed with excited motion between his best friends.

"You didn't say that at all," Hermione retorted before she turned back to Ron and jabbed him. "And you haven't confirmed who you are."

"We're doing that Order thing, aren't we?" the redhead scowled.

"Because that Order-thing makes bloody good sense when you two take over an hour to get back here," the brunette witch nearly screeched.

"Okay, okay, don't get your knickers in a twist. Merlin, women," Ron grumbled, unable to see Hermione's stormy expression nor Harry's cutting motion at the neck. "Let's see, you are a spectacular swot who punched Draco Malfoy in third year before turning back time to save a convict. Does that work for you?"

A sharp twitch of her wrist released Ron, who proceeded to fall to the ground in a jumble of limbs. Muttering obscenities under his breath, the red haired wizard picked himself off the ground with a dirty look. A brown brow arched in response, as if daring him to follow through with his threats. He answered with a black scowl, but shifted to the side. Silence stretched between the trio.

"What the bloody hell took you so long?" Hermione exploded.

"You see-" Harry began.

"About that-" Ron said at the same time.

"Well, I was able to sneak into the Toad's office," Harry continued. "And past the Muggle-Born registration offices -nasty piece of work that is- and get this; she has Mad-Eye's eye on her door!"

"Gross!" Ron exclaimed.

"How does that even work?" The brunette witch asked, equally disgusted.

"I don't know," Harry squeaked. "She just had it there."

"That is something the barmy witch would do," Ron muttered as he settled on a sofa nearby.

"Right, so, she has all sorts of files in there, memos from different heads of department, which people should be tried for what," the black haired teen continued. "Yes, Hermione, I wrote down a list of Order members and their supposed charges to pass on. No, I didn't touch anything -I'm not that stupid. I just took too long in the office, that's all. I promise I left as soon as I realized it, Hermione, honest!"

"Uh huh," she raised a brow, settling like a queen into her wingback chair. Legs crossed and arms resting in front of her, "And that made you at least an hour and a half later than me how?"

"You see, that's where we kinda ran into some problems," Harry stated in a high voice. "We met back up in the Atrium and, as Ron and I went to the lift, one of the Death Eaters-"

"McNair," Ron supplied.

"McNair stopped us to have a chat and tried to get Ron back to do more maintenance," the black haired teen explained.

"I didn't find anything interesting, unless you count the flooding across the building as 'interesting.' Been raining since Thicknesse took office," Ron nodded as if to back up Harry's story.

"Right," Harry picked up, "We all crammed into the lift, since that is how we had to get out, and then, McNair followed, something about trying to get me to come to some meeting or another -most likely a Death Eater recruitment type thing. So, we ended up trying to stun the guy, except that it didn't work, because Scabior walked in at the next stop and saw his mate stunned and out for the count."

"Not to mention, we started to morph back into ourselves right then," Ron pointed out.

"Well, that didn't help at all," Harry nodded, sage and wise. Hermione pinched her nose, hoping to stop the coming headache before her friends went on. "So, he started to yell and scream about finding me, and there was a bit of a tussle."

"I got him good in the stomach, and closed the lift door," Ron puffed.

 _I am surrounded by testosterone driven idiots!_ Hermione internally screamed. No wonder it took the pair so long to get back. They must've been right behind her in the lift.

"Well, we got outside and didn't have time to do all the other stuff you told us to," the redhead picked up, "That's when we looked at each other and just knew. We went off apparating around like you told us. At some point, we met up outside of Godric's Hollow, and noticed that someone kept following us."

"So, I cast around a bit, taking us to Little Whinging, and found that someone had tracking charms on us. So, we dispelled everything and ran for Mrs. Figgs house," Harry motioned with his hands. "At that point, she kept us in her house for a while, lecturing us about being reckless and how we would make you worry and not to do such stupid things."

"She's right, you know," Hermione grouched.

"But look, it all worked out," Ron grinned, pulling a smile from Harry and even a reluctant tweak of the lips from Hermione. "I mean, it _did_ all work out, right?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. Right hand grasped a chain in her pocket and dangled it in front of the boys. Odd opalescent sheen danced in the light, as the recognizable heirloom gently swung back and forth. She launched into her story, and watched as they took in what she said, mentioning all the files she saw and the names. When she got to their files, she smirked as she told them about the nature of their filings.

"My only concern is that we can't destroy it yet," Hermione gave the locket a pensive look as it sat upon the table.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, brow furrowed. "That we don't have what we need to destroy it, or that we shouldn't?"

"Both, really," she replied. "We need something ridiculously powerful to destroy such an artifact. Outside of basilisk venom, which the sword of Gryffindor absorbed, there is manticore venom and fiendfyre that may be powerful enough to do the job. The real problem lays in the fact that it holds a piece of _His_ soul."

"No offense, Hermione, but that's kind of the whole point of this scavenger hunt," Ron wryly pointed out.

"I know that," she scowled at his tone. "I bet you, Dumbledore did not read enough of his books," here, she began to take out several volumes from her beaded bag, "because, if he did, he'd know that destroying them as we found them would be a horrible idea."

"Could you perhaps explain it," Harry raised a brow at her.

"Perhaps I shouldn't," she stuck her tongue out.

"Fine, fine," her best friend relented. "Oh Great and Powerful Hermione, will you tell us why we should withhold the time of destruction for these horcruxes?"

"As long as you don't go behind the curtain," an amused chuckle responded.

"What does that make me? The Scarecrow with no brain?" smirked the boy-who-lived. "You'd make a pretty cute Dorothy. Crookshanks could be your Toto!"

"How would I be both Dorothy and the Wizard of Oz?" Hermione snickered.

"Magic, Hermione," Harry gave a slow, wisen nod.

"Ah, yes, magic," she rolled her eyes. "At least Professor Flitwick would make a good munchkin. Sings and is enthusiastic enough, don't you think?"

"Does that make Malfoy the Cowardly Lion?" his emerald eyes glittered.

"He's not nearly adorable enough for such a role. That's obviously Neville," her sarcastic retort.

"This is a muggle thing, isn't it?" Ron asked, head going back and forth between the pair.

"Ah, yes," Hermione blushed, sharing a sheepish smile with Harry. "Horcruxes. Can't destroy them, yet. Right." Closed eyes, deep breath, all extraneous thoughts flew out, leaving the pertinent information. "So, in the book I got from Dumbledore's office before we left the school-"

"Wait, how did that work?" Ron interrupted before flushing at the death glare directed his way.

"Magic, Ronald. I used magic," she explained with a raised brow. "No more comments? Good. The books are fascinating, if disgusting and horrifying all at once, but what happens is that the person's soul, in this case _His_ , does not truly separate. The theory is that you put a piece of your soul for safe keeping, and, if the vessel holding said piece were to be destroyed, that leash tugs the now displaced soul piece back to the source."

A satisfied smirk made it's way onto her face. Cinnamon eyes watched as each boy worked through the information provided. Convoluted on purpose, pride and joy always sung through her when they figured something out. Lips tilted higher when the light above Harry's head light first, deep furrow still present on Ron's brow.

"What you're saying," his eyes searched hers as Harry slowly vocalized his thoughts, "is that when we destroy a horcrux, he knows. He feels it either being somehow demolished, or his soul piece rejoining the rest of him."

"Exactly," Hermione beamed.

"And if that's right, then if we start picking off horcruxes now, he'd know what we were doing, and would be more aggressive towards those we care about," Harry added, emerald eyes dancing, words coming faster. "So, as a way to lull him into a feeling of false security, we should first gather all of the horcruxes together, destroy them all at once, and then fight him on our own terms."

"Spot on," pride colored her tone as she settled back into her chair. Noticing the dark look on Ron's face, she tilted her head. "What's wrong, Ron?"

"While all of that sounds good," he frowned, genuine confusion in his voice. "Why hasn't he done anything like that already? I mean, Dumbledore just destroyed one last year, didn't he?"

"That's something I struggled with for a while," Hermione acknowledged, knowing that a small stroke to the ego would go a long way later. "What I realized is that the first one, the diary, is probably what gave him enough strength to resume a semi-corporeal form, which Wormtail then nursed to, well not health, but you know what I mean. He couldn't do anything about it. The second one he assumed Dumbledore did alone, and thus had Malfoy assigned to kill him."

"Which Snape finished off," growled Harry.

"In which Snape killed the Headmaster," Hermione sighed with a shake of her head. _The Headmaster knew exactly what he was doing with Harry,_ she thought, and, just as quickly, shoved to the back of her mind. "It leaves us with an opening to collect them now. _He_ thinks no one else knows about the horcruxes, and thus doesn't know what we are doing. All of his plans are falling into place quite neatly, and it is a matter of time until he has all of us right where he wants us."

"And in the meantime," Ron added after a moment, "We strategize, collect, and plan how we want to end this war. All by holding off on destroying these nasty buggers. Blimey!"

"Not to mention your containment spell," Harry murmured, "we will have minimal, if any, nasty side effects." He stared at her, as if piercing her soul, emerald eyes narrow with thought. "This isn't the plan that Dumbledore had for us, is it?"

"Hardly," she snorted. "Dumbledore wanted us completely isolated and fending for ourselves in addition to puzzling out the more than usually cryptic clues he left behind. I decided to not leave things to chance. By keeping informed of important things, we are able to better form and execute our plans, not to mention we have the support we need for when we need it. Not to mention, we keep those close to us assured of our safety, if nothing else. We have a nice, protected base to operate out of, with beds, a shower, and hot meals, a library for reference, and places to go if we need to get out."

"I can't argue with that, mate," the voracious Weasley shrugged. "Having three, good meals a day, and tea is important."

Harry snorted in agreement and leaned back in his chair, once more regarding the brunette. The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet companionship, Hermione warning the Order about the ministry incident, as well as briefing what information they found. Remus and Kingsley, though enraged about what happened, if the insistent, loud chimes were anything to go by, were nothing compared to Minerva. At one point, Hermione had to tell her to stop since she could no longer take the headache relieving potion.

All in all, the trio judged the day a success. No one died, nor were injured in the process of gaining a horcrux and information. They successfully infiltrated the ministry, and the boys' little game of cat and mouse satisfied enough of their Gryffindor death-defying needs for the time being. Harry and Ron bid her goodnight, making their way to the parlor for their nightly games of chess and exploding snap. This left Hermione alone and staring at the journals. With slow, hesitant movements, leather opened to reveal pages of Augusta and Minerva's hand writing. A deep breath left her lungs as she wrote down a single, short message.

br

 _ **I am going to tell them tomorrow morning,**_ the neat script informed her.

Minerva closed the book with a contemplative frown and leaned back in her favorite upholstered chair. Thoughts came and went, trailing one another, yet never staying for long. Hermione was her favorite cub in a long time, reminding the stern woman much of herself at that age. Strong and silent in her bravery, but there all the same. Misplaced, whether on accident or by design, the young, brunette woman took each obstacle with grace rarely seen.

Fingers steepled as her gaze shifted to the flickering light of the fire. Her words from not so long ago buzzed around her head, like a particularly tenacious gnat, and forced the formidable witch to do just that; analyze people's actions beyond the surface. What Minerva found unsettled her quite greatly. While all of her cubs, and most of the Badgers acted in a way befitting of those, both on the surface and otherwise, she found several Ravens to be dodgy, saying one thing, but doing another. Likewise, several Slytherins, including the youngest Malfoy, all pretended to enjoy the power their faction has won, while struggling against it themselves in the smallest and oddest of ways.

Perhaps the most impressive and extreme example was the headmaster, himself. Minerva knew Severus Snape since he came to Hogwarts as a spindly, scrawny youth of eleven, thirsting for knowledge and acceptance. He only found part of that amongst these hallowed halls, and the rest he supplemented where and how he could. Never had she felt so horribly duped as when she found out about the 'prank' Sirius pulled in their sixth year. That, however, paled in comparison to the level of betrayal Minerva felt now.

With each passing day, she watched as the bruises under his eyes deepened, wrinkles set into his face, and gaze watched the students anxiously. His words burnt like the hottest fire with a lasting sting that would haunt her mind for hours, and yet, he did everything in his power to keep the Carrows in check. He promptly returned and distributed fair punishments for students. If he had to lay into several more 'intensely,' such as Ginny and Neville, then so be it. Horace, for all his geniality, rarely kept up hospital brewing, which mean that someone had to do it.

Each thought and observation lent more credence to the staff's initial meeting. Often times, the old guard, as the Carrows would cackle, lingered after weekly staff meetings. New stories of the Carrow's atrocities often bled into accounts of the Headmaster sweeping in before any serious injuries, and dismiss said child to the best equipped authority figure. The path wound them to the stories of these children being protected by the headmaster, sometimes with a vial slipped into a pocket or bag, but always with some insult to harden the blow.

Curiouser and curiouser, indeed, for she might as well have just fallen down the rabbit hole.

Picking up her favorite eagle feathered quill, and dipping it into her ink, the older witch replied, _**I wish you the best of luck, lass.**_

br

The next morning, Hermione decided to have herself a lie in. After the excitement of the previous day, her body protested against moving with any sort of speed. She philosophically gave into the demands made of her, and turning over to sleep once more. When her bladder could no longer be ignored, she trudged to the nearby loo.

Hot water and soap ran down her body, washing away the grime of yesterday's adventure. Her hands massaged conditioner into her hair, a hum of contentment vibrated through her very being. Bubbles followed fingers up and down her arms and legs, torso and back. Looking down once more, Hermione sighed. She couldn't hide from her best friends forever, and this is something they needed to know.

Within moments, wet feet stepped out of the shower. Water dripped off her body as a towel wrapped around her head. She watched her face in the mirror as she brushed her teeth, trying to spot if she looked any different than before. With no answer, she left the steamy room of contemplation behind, making her way toward the kitchen for something to eat. Both boys, sleep rumpled and groggy, greeted Hermione when she sat down at the table. _This is going to be a lot harder than I thought,_ she mentally sighed.

"Are you guys planning anything today?" she asked, trying to feel the pair out.

"I was thinking of relaxing," Harry finally mumbled, coffee perking him up a bit. "Probably play chess and exploding snap in the parlor."

"Sounds about right," Ron nodded as he stuffed another fork full of egg into his mouth.

"I think I'll take a few books down and join you," she nodded.

An hour later, everyone situated in the parlor, Hermione watched the scene before her. Her boys, the two best friends she'd had since first year, gamely sent insults back and forth. Pieces died dramatic deaths, scrapping to the sides of the board, while barbs and jokes danced between the two friends. Crackles and pops colored the conversation, the happily licking flames in the grate warming the room. With her, they completed a tableau of easy friendship. Her eyes danced back and forth, imprinting the details into her mind.

A shiver of dread slid down her back. Worst case scenario played out, overlaying this peaceful scene. Hand slid to her beaded bag, safe and secure inside an interior pocket. The other felt the odd texture of the small, stuffed bear. Minerva slipped the velveteen plush into her bag before the wedding, for emergencies. She planned to use it, holding down the squeaker, should they appear incensed and unreasonable -a very likely possibility within Gryffindor House.

Ideas of opening gambits flitted through her mind, each cheesier and more confusing than the last. A small frown marred her features as advice from the two older women floated through her mind. Instead of the straight and bold approach, a la Augusta Longbottom, Hermione decided to try a more roundabout route.

"Do either of you know much about ancient magic?" Her tentative voice asked.

"A bit," Ron answered, giving her a bemused glance. "Mum and Dad were married the normal way, but liked to go to the festivals from time to time."

"What festivals?" Harry asked, intrigued attention caught.

"Those things that muggle witches celebrate," Hermione explained, falling into a natural rhythm. _So far, so good._ "The solstices and equinoxes are magical holidays since the days before Merlin. The major ones are Beltane in the spring, Midsummer in the early part of summer, Samhain, which we call Halloween, and Yule in the winter. Of course, these are not always on the solstice and equinox days, which are their own holidays as well. They are represented in the ancient magics as a God and Goddess, whose life cycle coincide with the seasons. The God represents the sun, and thus is born on the shortest day of the year, Yule, and dies at the end of summer, as the days lose length. The Goddess is both mother and mate, marrying him, and bearing his reincarnation every year. Without going into it more, that is the general belief and story attributed to the ancient holidays."

"That's not strange at all," Harry muttered. "But you said magic, not holidays."

"When did you get perceptive?" the brunette squinted at the emerald eyed teen.

"I've always been," he flashed her a cheeky smile. "You're only noticing it now.

"Oh hush," she chuckled, "But yes, there is quite a bit that modern wizarding magic does not use. Things like ley lines and invoking the elements are forgotten. Most people think it archaic and weak, though the more serious rituals, like bindings, will always have some aspect of both. It's just unpredictable magic, which scares most people. You can't tell which way the tide will go. Leys are strong currents of magical energy. Think of it like an electric wire. Where more of these wires cross, the more powerful the spot, and it makes it easier to make and maintain larger bits of magic."

"Yeah, they say it's great for wards, and why so many pureblood houses are built either near each other or in some line from each other," Ron piped in. "The Burrow is constructed over a ley line, which is what made it so powerful. It's easier to tap into the magic there, and let it work for you, creating and keeping wards."

"Hogwarts is one of the most magically powerful spots we know of," Hermione nodded in agreement. "It can have and keep all of it's fantastically complex wards because the ley lines power and anchor them. If Hogwarts were almost literally anywhere else, it would not be nearly as secure as it truly is."

"Where is the other powerful spots?" The mop haired boy asked, eyes alight with curiosity.

"Well, one is a traditional ritual site in Ireland," Hermione smiled at the fond memory. "It's where the largest celebration for all the holidays take place. The elders own the land and live nearby, so it's always protected. I'm surprised that you can't guess the third one, though."

"Should I know it?" Harry snorted, eyes on the knight he placed.

"You will feel quite stupid when I tell you," the brunette smirked. "So, yes."

"Not helping ,'Mione," he grumbled and watched Ron rub his hand together in glee. "Just tell me."

"It's not like you'll die if I don't," cinnamon eyes rolled as a pathetic, puppy whimper answered her. With fond exasperation, she finally conceded. "The other place with as may ley lines as Hogwarts is Stonehenge."

"You're right, I do feel stupid now," Harry grouched. "Even the muggles realized it has power!"

"You know that there is a theory out there stating that true muggle borns do not exist," Hermione conversationally hummed.

"Of course there are," Ron snorted. "I mean, look at you -no offense, Hermione."

"None taken," she chuckled.

"Barmy, the lot of them," the redhead clucked. "Off their rockers, I think."

"Not really," a musing hmm answered. "They say that magic have to come from somewhere, right? So, there are two options. The first is that the muggle born is actually a direct descendent of a squib at some point. Since they were either casted out or exchanged for healthy muggle born children, it stands to reason that the majority of muggle borns are, in actuality, squib born."

"You said the majority," Ron pointed out, waving a pawn about, despite it's loud protests. "Yes, Merlin, I'll put you down!"

"Put the poor thing down, Ronald," Hermione scolded. "The minority, and I mean, less than five percent of all muggle borns, mind, were conceived over ley lines. Since they were imbued with pure magic, their blood is, by magic's standards, pure. In ancient times, they were said to be born of the earth, or mud, hence the term mudblood."

"So, what you're telling me," Harry blinked, looking at Hermione, "is that every time Malfoy said 'mudblood,' instead of insulting you, he was complimenting you? But he didn't know it."

"Pretty much," a mischievous smirk greeted those words.

"No wonder you nearly cracked up in giggles each time he did it," Ron exclaimed, putting pieces together.

"But Hermione," brow thoughtfully furrowed, the black haired boy inquired, "Why is it so rare for muggle borns to be born from the ley lines?"

"Oh, it's not just muggle borns," Ron interjected before Hermione could get a word in, "It's wizards, too. You see, the amount of raw magic that goes through you during one of these things, either a festival or a ley line, but especially both, makes it hard for people to have babies. Mum explained it felt like liquid fire, powerful stuff, raw magic. It takes powerful people to be able to -you know-"

"Conceive?" Hermione archly provided as Ron blushed bright red.

"That," he gruffly accepted. "And even then, it doesn't happen all the time. Raw magic is unpredictable, which is why most stopped doing anything with it long ago, like Hermione said. So, it's rare for anyone to have a baby resulting from a festival or from the ley lines in general. It kind of destroys what's in there, you know."

"Huh," Harry moved a bishop absent mindedly, "I guess that does make sense."

"Mum said that the magic is intoxicating, and that you have little control over it all," Ron plowed on. "See, ancient magic awakens the inner god or goddess, and they kind of direct you. She said it was weird, since she was both herself and not, but the 'not' part was still her, the her she didn't have the courage to be. It's how they had Bill, actually, and why they married so late into the pregnancy."

"Really?" Harry exclaimed. "I never would have guessed."

"Gin, too," Ron grinned, "Makes our family both proud and powerful by other's standards, having all the kids and two born from festivals."

"The more you know," Harry muttered as he looked into the fire.

"You know, you are most likely a Yule babe yourself," Hermione added, and watched with perverse pleasure at the startled, "Probably a few weeks early, that's what happened with Nev, and you were born within a day of each other."

"Well, what you, Hermione?" Harry stuttered over Ron's jovial laughter. "How were you born, if you're so-so unembarrassed to talk about it."

"My parents conceived me at Stonehenge the first full moon of 1978," she dryly informed the boys. "Said it was some sort of New Year's resolution or something, and when it was all over they just knew."

"What?!" Harry yelped.

"Granted, that is pretty tame for them," she continued purposefully. "I used to walk in on them all the time, you know. Once, my father was tied to the bed posts in nothing as my mum wore some leather contraption and brandished a feather. That was odd."

For a moment, both boys gaped at her, mouths open, cheeks flushed. The shocked awe of the silence nearly made her laugh. Using all her willpower, a single, brown brow raised as if to question. Audible clicks sounded as both jaws slammed shut. Harry stared at her, lost and confused, while Ron appeared to be looking at her for the first time.

"My parents were open about their sex lives, and insisted it to be a perfectly natural part of life," Hermione shrugged, hand surreptitiously pocketing the small, black volume. "It was common enough that I simply rolled my eyes and muttered 'again,' before shutting the door and going back to my room to read."

"Merlin's saggy bits, what's next?" Ron threw his arms up, looking towards the ceiling.

"Well, I can tell you I've been to one of those festivals," Hermione internally winced, hand grasping the teddy bear just in case.

"Really? Which one?" Harry asked, obviously curious and using it to force the uncomfortable information behind him.

"Midsummer of this year," she smiled. "And it was purely magic, in the muggle sense," Harry nodded, a small smile of understanding tilting the corners of his lips. "It was amazing. Everything felt more, colors were more robust, images clearer, nothing but laughter and music and magic. Truly, the best experience of my life to this point."

"And did you meet anybody?" Harry asked, caught in the dreamlike whimsy.

"A few people. During the afternoon, there was food and drinks everywhere. I ended up talking to a nice couple from Cornwall about gardening herbs of all things," here, she noticed Ron's astute hazel eyes regarding her with intense scrutiny.

"That wasn't all you met, was it?" Ron's voice soft and apprehensive.

 _Well, here goes nothing,_ flashed through her mind as she looked straight at her other best friend. "No, they weren't."

"You met him, didn't you?" She nodded. "And you both-?" Another. "Merlin! Are you-?" She bit the bottom of her lip to keep tears from slipping, which was all the answer Ron needed. "Oh, 'Mione!"

Expecting something more, muscles held rigid and ready. Instead of insults being hurled her way, the arms of her friend held her close. A few minutes passed before she allowed herself to relax. Like a floodgate opened, tears of frustration and fear fell freely as Ron held her. This was more than she imagined, and she thanked anyone who listened. Tears stopped, sobs lessened, and finally, she pried herself away with a shaky smile.

"Can someone explain this to me?" An irritable Harry demanded.

"You see," Ron launched, as Hermione settled back into the chair, once more ready to flee, "that feeling Mum mentioned? The way she explained it is that, once the elders unleash the magic around them, you are ruled by it, and so, your instincts, which we call our inner God or Goddess, rules our actions. What happens during these festivals is that people find that person who calls to your God or Goddess, right? And they do things with each other, and rarely, very rarely, end up with more than they bargained for."

"What Ron is trying to explain," Hermione cut in, defensive and tense, "Is that part of the purpose of the festivals is to find your mate through magic, your other half, if you will. It's the stuff soul mate myths are made of. I found mine, and we came together, and now, well," Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, scared, nervous, and anxious. _And if this is what it's like to tell my friends, I can't imagine what it'll be like to tell_ him, she thought. "Harry, I'm pregnant."


	5. Oh, Give Me a Home

For all intents and purposes, a basilisk might as well had stared at Harry through a puddle for how still he stood. An anxious, tense hand gripped the teddy bear portkey as the other held her wand so tight. Minutes ticked past, no one daring to move in case it set off the formidable temper of Harry's. Mouth long since dry, Hermione tried to swallow, but nothing came. Stomach in knots, more so than usual, she watched and waited for some sign.

"Let me get this straight," He finally said, voice low and calm. Either a really good thing, or a very bad thing, Ron picked up on his mood and stood between the two friends. "You went to this festival thing, got drunk off of wine and magic, got knocked up by some stranger, and now what?"

"I've been making spells and plans to help you win this war, and you damn well know it," Hermione growled, her inner Goddess enraged at the insult to her mate. She took a deep breath and tried to control herself. "If it was a drunk night, then what you said is spot on. Unfortunately for you, what happen was much, much more. Ron's mum is right, you don't have any sort of real control. You are at the mercy of the ancient magic within you. Why the hell do you think most people forgot about these holidays? About these avenues of power? Because they couldn't damn well control it!"

"So, what am I supposed to do?" he exploded. "Pat your back and say 'Oh, poor Hermione, bit off more than you could chew'?"

"No," she shouted, standing up, fists balled. "You're supposed to understand that I am working through it. That I am doing everything I possibly can to set you up for success, and I'll help you in any way I physically can, like I always have!"

"Well, your timing bloody sucks," he growled, eyeing her with lingering anger.

"Don't you think I know that?" she snarled. "Don't you think I've beaten myself up about this plenty since it happened? Don't you think I've been working overtime to make it up? To find some way to make all of this easier on you, since I won't be able to stay with you the whole time like I wanted and planned? Do you think I did this to make your life more difficult?"

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared down the boy before her, anger at him boiling in her blood. Clear vision revealed a suitably cowed Harry, with an equally cowering Ron behind him. She sat back down with as much dignity as she could muster, trying not to break out crying once more. Hands folded in her lap, keen, cinnamon eyes watched the boy in front of her sulk.

"You don't even look pregnant," Harry pouted.

"Of course I don't, not really," she rolled her eyes. "I've been wearing baggy clothing on purpose."

"Would you show us if we asked?" Ron asked in a hurry.

"Boys, really," she rolled her eyes and stood up.

Hands lifted the hem of her over large jumper, folding it up. While average height for muggles, Hermione stood petite to most wizards, curvy by their standards. A far cry from the voluptuous yet willowy, tall figures of the Lavender Browns of the wizarding world. What could have been mistaken as a food bulge with clothes on looked to be. The boys stared at the new curve and blinked. A small hand ran down the soft v her stomach before fingers gently pressed and probed the bottom.

"You see, the uterus is firm," she murmured, finally able to share this with someone, "So, it doesn't jiggle." Her fingers pressed along the bottom to illustrate her point. "Right there is my child."

A stunned silence greeted her words. She allowed them to stare for a minute more before settling the jumper over her stomach once more. They didn't need to know the other reason for picking this particular garment was to hide her growth in other areas. They didn't need to know that much about pregnancy yet. Settled once more into her chair, Hermione watched the shell shocked expressions with a small, satisfied smirk, one hand protectively over herself.

"In a couple of weeks, you won't need to ask a question like that," she chuckled as they stopped gaping at her once more. "The thing is, I didn't want to tell you two right away. Neither of you boast the best of tempers. I wanted the charm set-up to work, and a general plan of action in place before I told you, just in case."

"Why is that?" Reluctant curiosity won over her friend.

"Because, I am going to be leaving you both for a time," Hermione sighed. "It'll be easier for both of you to move and gather information if I'm not around, and you don't need to worry about me. In the meantime, I will move somewhere that has a large library and full lab, so I can work more with spell and potion development." _And if I'm right about my mate, it will be safer all around if we were separated,_ she added mentally.

"It makes good, tactical sense," Ron nodded. "But, where does that leave us?"

"Here, with a plan, a containment charm, and access to all the Order," Hermione grinned as she revealed two journals, both a bright, Gryffindor red. Each had the Order phoenix, one with a terrier, the other with a stag, in a delicate, golden outline. "I have made these for you both. It's how I keep in touch with Remus, Kingsley, and Minerva."

"Woah," Ron breathed, handling the journal with care.

"What does it do?" Harry asked, curiosity alight in his eyes.

"It's like the DA coins, but it goes both ways. All six of us are able to send and receive all messages. It's how I got information from the Order, and how they know we are safe and alive," she beamed before going into her explanation. Once finished, journals attuned and terms accepted, she added, "You'll be able to communicate with me through these a well. When I leave, I expect you guys to make use of this and don't go jumping into things! If you need to get out, ask which safe house you can visit and for how long. We don't want to overstress our resource, nor bring undue attention to places where others take refuge."

"So, I'd be able to visit, say, the twins?" Ron asked.

"As long as it's deemed safe, sure," Hermione nodded.

"And I can go see Remus and Tonks?" Harry eyed her with hope.

"If he says it's okay," she smiled at the pair. "Like I said, don't be afraid to ask for help through here, or for comfort. This is a hard time for everyone. No need to make it worse by isolating yourselves."

The rest of the day passed in a hazy blur of the boys talking to the Order, Minerva chatting with Hermione about the 'big reveal,' and Kreacher's openly solicitous doting of Missy Hermy and the young one. Gathered once more in the parlor for the evening, they sat as before. Their laughter and jokes brought a smile to Hermione's face. Curled on the sofa, she watched the scene with a rare calmness of mind.

"No wonder you looked like you were gaining weight," Harry chortled at some point.

"Not to mention how you ate Kreacher's pie," Ron added with a conspiratorial smile.

"It was the first thing that hadn't sent me to the loo in a while," she stuck her tongue out.

"Merlin, I can't imagine, being sick every morning and not being able to eat breakfast," Ron moaned, dramatic and serious.

"I wish it was just the morning," Hermione grumbled. "A man obviously named it."

"That's even worse," the redheaded wizard laughed.

"Is that why you were tired all the time?" Harry asked as he considered his cards for exploding snap.

"Yes, though it's finally getting a bit better," chuckled the witch.

"So, why aren't you moving out yet?" Ron asked, quickly adding, "Not that we don't like having you here, because we really do."

"In short, because Professor McGonagall, Minerva, is fixing up one of her family properties for me," she answered, picking up a pair of knitting needles.

"I call dibs on godfather," Ron shouted, grinning at Harry.

"No fair! I didn't even know we were calling dibs," Harry responded in kind.

The rest of the evening passed in a pleasant blur. With a deep sigh, Hermione drifted into a deep sleep.

oOo oOo oOo

September the 19th dawned, bright and crisp. Years ago, this used to be her actual birthday. Now, it simply was the date her parents gave birth, but not longer a marker for her actual age. Dumbledore had seen to that, with his grandfather like twinkle, a specially engraved time turner, and a contract allowing her unlimited use, as long as time paradoxes were averted. Which, as a scrupulous child, she ensured. The researcher in her compulsively took notes, recording exactly how much time she spent.

One of many odd, unscrupulous actions Dumbledore committed against her, Hermione wondered how he got away with it. What political strings did the man pull to grant a fourteen year old unlimited use of such a sensitive, destructive device like a time turner? What baffled her the most were people's inattentiveness. No one noticed if she aged faster, or that she developed quicker than other girls. Still, breakfast in bed via Kreacher and a cake in the evening hurt no one.

 _ **Happy birthday, Hermione,**_ Augusta wrote sometime that day.

 _ **A very merry unbirthday, indeed, Lass,**_ Minerva added by the time Hermione cracked open her journals.

 _ **I take it you enjoyed Alice in Wonderland, Minerva,**_ Hermione chuckled as her pen danced across the page. _**Thank you, both of you.**_

 _ **We'd never miss it for the world**_ **,** the other witch responded.

 _ **Indeed, and I believe we have a suitable birthday surprise for you,**_ the tabby cat's loopy script flowed.

 _ **Any gift from either of you would be wonderful,**_ Hermione responded, though secretly pleased and quite eager to hear the surprise.

 _ **Well, child, be ready to be amazed,**_ Augusta's scrawl answered.

 _ **You see, we finally found the perfect homestead for you and your little one,**_ Minerva's answer quickly followed, excited to share the news. _**It's off the northwestern coast of Scotland, plenty of land included in the wards and a lovely structure all together. It's one of the smaller properties my family owns.**_

 _ **Though, smaller is a relative term,**_ came the sarcastic commentary.

 _ **I thought you said you already found a place?**_ Hermione frowned, as she thought about all the enthusiastic status updates the two women sent her quite often.

 _ **We did, but then I found this gem as we went through my portfolio,**_ Minerva gushed, word appearing faster than ever. _**And I knew it was perfect. It won't take any longer to prepare. The structure is sound, but the rooms needed cleaning and a fresh coat of paint. There is a charming front garden, and the back leads out to the bluffs and overlooks the ocean. I am convinced you will adore it.**_

 _ **Are you sure? I don't need quite so much space,**_ the young brunette wrote, slow and tentative. At this point, it looked to be her and her child. Such a large estate would hardly be needed for two people.

 _ **Nonsense,**_ Augusta dashed the concern aside.

 _ **As we said before, we are convinced everything will work out for you,**_ Minerva asserted. _**I have the feeling your family will grow into the space.**_

 _ **But it's only for right now,**_ Hermione nibbled her bottom lip, glancing every few moments at the small, black journal. _**Until the war is over, or I decide to disappear.**_

 _ **That is the present in this, dear,**_ her mentor explained, tone gentle and fond. _**In gifting you this house, I have officially made you my heiress. It will be your's, for you and your family. You need it more than I, and as the last of my family, I have no relations whom I so much know, let alone believe deserve such a gift. Take it, child, as a gift and the start of a new chapter in your life. I have no need of such a large place. My cottage is more than enough for me. I promise, the library is divine, and there is space in the cellar for at least one decent sized lab.**_

Big, fat tears began to run down her face, as sniffling sobs choked back words. Hands fanned her face in vain, emotions and hormones running roughshod over her normal self control. Disbelief and shock hit her first. Soon after came happiness at the optimism and faith the two women had in her. Running underneath everything else was a deep abiding gratitude. She could never repay either for their kindness, let alone this generous gift.

 _ **Now, before you break,**_ the chime announcing Augusta's words, _**Do know that there are ground rules to inheriting wizarding homes. First off, Minerva gave you several elves to help maintain and upkeep the house. They will answer only to you and your family.**_

 _ **I would worry about you freeing them, if it were not for your talk with the Hogwarts elves during your fourth year,**_ Minerva dryly remarked. Hermione flushed to remember the incident. _**In addition, we both have given you several smaller assets to oversee. Invest wisely, and you can grow your wealth from these, as well as any patons you may yet produce.**_

 _ **And don't forget, I will be living with you during the school year,**_ the elder Longbottom cheerfully informed Hermione. _**As of now, I'm in the front sitting room, overseeing the preparations for your arrival. Everything will be in order by the time you arrive, dearie, don't fret.**_

Finally gathering her wits and sense, eyes wiped free of happy tears, Hermione finally replied, _**I cannot express how happy you both have made me today. Words are paltry, insufficient to relay such gratitude as I feel right now. I thank you, both, from the bottom of my heart.**_ A few sniffles later, Hermione resumed, _**When will it be ready?**_

 _ **We are planning for the first weekend of October,**_ Augusta answered. _**It will give you plenty of time to settle down and prepare for Samhain.**_

The conversation wound down from there, and, soon, Hermione curled into her bed to sleep. A large grin stretched across her face, as images of children running along the Scottish meadows filled her head. Even as Morpheus reclaimed her, hope and happiness suffused her very being.

* * *

With October looming a few days ahead, the old guard loitered in the staff room as per ritual. Efficient and acerbic as ever, the new headmaster billowed out of the room, cackling hyenas following close behind. A few, quick flicks from the half dwarf charms master, and the professor's war council commenced. The usual stories of fair discipline with bruised egos came forth from each professor.

"If it weren't for last June, you would think that Albus died of natural causes over the summer, and Voldemort put our spy in his place," Septima frowned, head tilted to the side as she listened to the latest story. "Not some terrible, cold blooded Death Eater."

"That is still troubling me," Pomona admitted, holding her china tea cup daintily in one hand. "Everything is a bit too neat, too precise. Just chaotic enough to seem natural, but the seams are sewn shut rather tightly."

"You know it's serious when the Hufflepuff is the one doubting," Aurora chuckled, and received several pointed glares. "It's not in your nature is all, nothing mean or personal, just an observation. I do agree, if it makes you feel better."

"Has anyone noticed anything else odd about the headmaster, though?" Filius frowned. "I know for a fact that the castle listens to him far better than it has Dumbledore in the past decade or so."

"That's because Severus does not intend to toy with the lives of his students," Minerva snorted, watching the meeting from her usual chair. "We all knew that Albus manipulated us. Some more than others. It is not a stretch of imagination to think that he extended such attention to several of our shared children. The wards sense the intent, and thus help our current headmaster."

"Curious how it feels almost sentient at times," Bathsheba murmured, patting the closest stone wall with affection.

"This is all well and good," Pomona remarked, "But this brings us no closer to the truth, or even a plan of action. Before anyone makes pointless comments, yes we know the man killed our previous mostly beloved employer."

"Employer, overlord, same difference," Aurora muttered to Septima, who proceeded to snicker.

"The point is, what do we do now?" the portly herbology professor finished over the noise.

Pensive silence blanketed the room as each teacher tried to think of an appropriate answer. Keen, hazel eyes observed her dedicated colleagues, and wondered seriously, for the first time, about the situation before them. If Albus truly choreographed his death, Severus conducted the score with his typical flawless precision. No one, outside of a select few, would question the move. Not He-Who-Should-Be-Rotting-In-Hell-Already, nor the staff, and most definitely not the Order. Which left the poor child alone. Still a spy and defector to his obvious faction, no single comrade would countenance even his name.

Yet, if the truth happened to be what Minerva suspected to be true, he has one unconditional source of support hitherto unknown to the man. Continuing the trend of hypotheticals, he could be a valuable source for more than one reason. Such a powerful, intelligent man held great potential for either side, but at what price would those services come? Stepping back, the puzzle fit together, each piece clicking into place. This line of 'what if' made sense to the stern woman, but what of it?

"We can all safely say the Headmaster is trying, in his own insulting, roundabout way, to protect the students to his greatest ability, even setting up provisions should they require to fully withdraw from school proper," the tabby animagus began, choosing her words carefully and gauging the reactions of those around her. "It is also apparent that the castle has fully accepted him as our headmaster, more so than it had Dumbledore, even.

"It is also obvious that he is doing extra work, most likely brewing for the hospital wing, and distributing appropriate potions when doing so is the most unexpected or thought of," she ticked another finger, list growing. "The facts are all based off the observations we made."

"He has yet to boast about it," Septima added quietly. "Every time he talks about killing Albus, he looks pained, almost appearing to lash out to hide it. Did anyone else notice he always says something along the lines of 'I can turn you out right now,' quite often, as if reminding us we are better off here?"

"To be clear, Severus is the headmaster as accepted by both the Castle and the Board. He is, to our observations and reports, working hard to keep our students safe," Minerva articulated for all to hear.

"Which leads back to the original question, Min," Pomona sighed. "What do we do?"

"We support our headmaster," Aurora decided with a satisfied nod. "If we change how we act, it would be suspicious. The man is under an enormous amount of pressure from all sides, and has never taken kindness without a grain of salt. Don't forget that the children of the Death Eaters will be reporting any strange actions on our part. So, we support him quietly. Keep our Houses out of trouble as much as possible, fill out only necessary detention slips, stick to our patrol schedules, and generally make running this school as smooth a process as possible."

A round of approval greeted the astronomy professor's statement. As the meeting broke into smaller, milling circles, Minerva took her leave. Feet navigated the hallways, familiar paintings saying hello as she passed with half a mind. Ever since that night in late July, Minerva couldn't help but start to guess. A man misunderstood by all, whose actions belie his words. By this point, very few men fit that mold. Each passing day reinforced her candidate of choice, Hermione's words circling her mind. _A complex man, indeed, lass,_ the Scotswoman chuckled to herself as she entered her quarters for the night.

* * *

 **October 1997**

Two and a half weeks passed in an odd mixture of quick bursts and slow, dragging hours. Finding out about her 'condition,' as Ron liked to refer to it, the boys took extra care to coddle her. Naturally, this lasted a day before she threatened to hex them the next time they did something she felt perfectly able to do herself. Not five minutes later, Ron sprouted wings from arm. An hour later, and Harry tripped into the door trying to avoid a stinging hex.

Among everything else, the trio started to plan in more detail the moves they were to make. With Hermione going off to research, the boys decided to take some time and learn how to duel properly. A makeshift schedule, between Kingsley, Remus, and Bill formed. Turning one of the useless sitting rooms into a dueling room took only an afternoon. A system and shorthand soon developed, and things appeared to be running smoothly.

On Hermione's side of things, she started to peruse the book left to her by Albus Dumbledore. No doubt some beyond-the-grave manipulation on his part, the stories intrigued the muggle born. Often times, the boys would find her sitting on a chair, reading aloud, one hand tenderly stroking growing stomach. They would snicker and tease her about the lackluster sound effects.

Cinnamon eyes scanned her room for the last time, checking and double checking for any missed items. Looking back, the past few weeks were productive and as good as they could be. A wry smirk stretched across her face. Baggy clothing would no longer hide her state, so she settled for the more comfortable dresses and robes she bought. Long and of soft fabric, is hung off her every curve with a thin belt accentuating her new form. No trousers, no buttons, no hassles.

"Are you done up there?" Harry's voice reverberated up the stairs.

"Yes," she called back, snapping out of her reverie. "I'm coming down."

"Just don't fall," her friend answered. "I don't want to be responsible to Professor McGonagall when you don't make your portkey."

"You mean you don't want an angry lioness breathing down your neck?" she snarked on the steps. "I never would have guessed."

"Merlin, 'Mione," Ron grinned when she entered the parlor, "You gotta watch where you're going with that! Could have knocked into a bloke."

"Ha ha ha, very funny," Hermione rolled her eyes in return.

"Just think," the black haired teen mused, crickles in the corner of his eyes, "Next time we see each other, you'll be a mother, and we'll be uncles."

"Blimey, that's a scary thought," Ron shuddered only to be replaced by a slow, devious smile. "Does that mean we get to teach the tyke all sorts of nasty, little things to annoy her with?"

"You will do no such thing, Ronald Bilius Weasley," the witch huffed, hands on her hips.

"Don't do that," he whined, cowering a bit. "You look almost exactly like Mum."

"That's the point, Ronald," arms folded under her chest. "I am going to be a mum, which means I'm allowed to sound like one, and make you do as I say."

"Scary, this one is," the redhead stage whispered to Harry, who tried not to smile.

"And you best remember that next time we meet," Hermione nodded.

The three stood around, quiet and contemplative after the bickering, soaking in the moment. Vision blurred, eyes blinked, hard and fast. Neither stopped the onset of tears. Within seconds, two pairs of strong arms held her, cooing, holding, keeping her safe. Both of her boys held on a bit longer than necessary, as she valiantly tried to stop her sniffling. Worse case scenarios flashed before her eyes. This could be the last time she saw either of them alive. At the very least, for a long time. Ever since becoming friends, partings were short, a month at most. It hit her heart hard.

"You two have to promise to be safe," her raspy voice demanded between pauses and hiccups. "I mean it! No rushing off into stupid danger without telling anyone, no eating weird things that have been out for too long, no impromptu trips outside without due caution," she babbled, furiously wiping at the tears that refused to stop. "You have to make it through this safe. S-so you can teach this one h-how to be terrors."

If the boy's eyes were misty, no one commented. Together, they watched the sunset over the London street. Curls leaned against one, while an arm wrapped around the other. This friendship, from a rocky start, signified so much right with the world. The memories slipped into appropriate places within her organized mind, noting how the light hit just right, the soft tick of the grandfather clock, the warmth of her best friends and brothers. Yet, time did not stop. Eight chimes rang through the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black

"So, yeah," a gruff Ron swallowed hard. "Make sure to tell Professor that we said hi."

"And that we're still making trouble," Harry's watery grin continued.

"And that we don't miss doing her essays," Ron chuckled as best he could.

"And remind her to go easy on Neville in class," the other added. A serious look entered his emerald eyes, "But, honestly, Hermione, be safe. Take care of, well, the both of you."

"I will," Hermione gulped, scrubbing at her face. "Okay, we're done with tears. We will still be able to talk, and I can tell him or her stories if you write them."

"With your horrible voices," the redhead's hazel eyes sparkled with mirth.

"And lousy effects," snickered Harry. "Poor kid, to have such a mother who can't properly make sounds."

"Oh hush, you two," hand smacked both boys on the arms. "Well, then, one minute then I'm off. I'll tell you all about it, alright?"

"We are counting on it," Harry answered.

One last tumultuous smile answered her friends, image seared to her brain, before the telltale tug of the navel pulled her through space. A sudden, cold breeze cut through her. Hands clutched the edge of her light traveling cloak, as she finally took in her surroundings. Cinnamon eyes blinked, incredulous and breathless. A gravel walk leading to carefully crafted stairs that cut through the Scottish hills. Bright red bushes painted either side of the second staircase, bold brush strokes amongst the greens. Stretching around her, tall trees towered and swayed, a great forest to her back. The setting sun disappeared on the other side of the house, tall grasses swayed beyond the manicured garden, dancing to their own tune.

The structure before her could only be called a large home, not quite a mansion, but larger than most family homes. Two stories tall, white walls stood tall, with bricks reinforcing the corners and joints as it sprawled across the lawn. Large windows shone with candlelight, warm in the growing dark of twilight. Smoke happily curled from the four double chimneys in sight, as the grey roof sloped down to greet her.

 _And this is all mine,_ she thought, dumbfounded as her eyes drank in the land.

"Ack! Lass, there you are," the stern figure of Minerva McGonagall called from the open french doors. "Get in before you catch a chill. I managed to get the weekend away from the castle, no need to extend my stay by falling ill, child."

Suitably shocked out of her reverie, Hermione crossed the front garden, climbing the stone steps. Gravel crunched under her sensible flats, hem lifted as to not trip her. The house grew in size as she approached, though it felt no less homey and welcoming. A smile tugged at her lips as she gazed around in distracted wonder. An arm's length from the door, her mentor reached out to hug her close.

"It's good to see you, safe and sound," the usually stern woman smiled.

"I missed you, too," the younger witch answered in kind.

"Now, let's get you inside," Minerva instructed, once more no-nonsense and crisp.

Six house elves stood within the entryway, high voices squeaking welcome to their new mistress. The eldest, Tinky, took her travel cloak and beaded bag, as the others popped off to finish their chores. All the while, a solicitous Minerva bustled Hermione towards the main parlor. Tall windows draped in scarlet and gold velvet curtains offered an excellent view of the back garden. A matching, thick rug lay upon the floor, beautifully upholstered sofas, settees, and loveseats. An ornate, inlaid book shelf covered one wall, with richly colored shelves and tables stood between the windows. In front of one, a similarly styled writing desk and chair sat. Across the room, fronting another window, sat an exquisite piano-forte. Behind her, a fire happily crackled in the hearth, warming the whole space.

"Tinky, please get us a full tea service," Minerva ordered as she guided the still stunned Hermione to one of the loveseats. "Now, dear, I hope you don't mind, but I invited Poppy over tomorrow for a few hours. You need to see a proper medical professional, and she is discretion incarnate."

"That sounds wonderful," Hermione sighed as she settled into the comfortable seat. "I could hardly leave once we retrieved Harry from the Dursley's. Muggle doctors are rather lost that early on."

"Where's Augusta?" the brunette witch inquired. "I thought she decided to join me here."

"She will," her mentor smiled. "For now, she is setting a few things up at her home. She was rather inspired by some of the wards you shared the other day. Speaking of, we shall take care of that tomorrow, after Poppy gives you a clean bill of health."

"I've been taking my prenatal potions and vitamins," Hermione sighed. "I've even been eating healthier than normal! Avoiding all the things pregnant woman should, to boot."

"As you should be," Laughed the tabby cat. "One can never be too careful."

"Fair enough," the owl animagus hummed. "I suppose the elves will only be giving me the proper diet as directed."

"Naturally," the Scotswoman winked. "Tomorrow, when you have more energy, I will take you about the house. For now, tell me everything that couldn't be written."

Hushed sounds of ladies talking and laughing filled the room, warmed by the presence of the witches. Pale moonlight filtered in the room through sheer curtains, as the two conversed well into the night.


	6. In Dreams

Morning dawned far too early for Hermione's liking. The bright, cool autumn sun stubbornly stayed in her eyes. A sigh of defeat left the warm cocoon of blankets from the middle of the king sized four poster. Heavy limbs left the bed, cold toes found slippers, and cold shoulders shrugged on a warm dressing gown. Tying the sash with a loose knot, Hermione made her way down to the kitchen.

Or, she tried to. Instead, she found the music room, art studio, multiple guest bedrooms, two or three complete suites, and several sets of stairs going both up and down. In the end, an overly amused elf lead her to the proper room.

"Had fun this morning, I take it?" the transfiguration professor arched a brow.

"I took the scenic route," the younger witch answered in kind.

The rest of the morning passed in a companionable mix of silence and conversation. Essentials, such as the fact that Hermione resided in the master suite, and the fact that the floo is only one way between Minerva's heavily warded private quarters in Hogwarts and the travel room, were related. Much was left unsaid, as both decided by tacit agreement to not mention the elephant in the room just yet.

After an early lunch, Hermione settled herself with her journals, both communication and notation, and the Tales of Beedle the Bard in the parlor. Minerva had returned some time ago to make an appearance for lunch and to fetch the mediwitch. Privately, the young woman fought the nerves any mother-to-be did. Lacking medical input through her first trimester, worried thoughts filled her mind. Each time suffocating worry and fear filled her chest, Hermione took deep breaths and focused on something else entirely. She informed the Order and boys about her move, the house, the garden, the view. If not, she took to reading aloud once more, in hopes to both improve and distract.

"Ah, Hermione dear, good to see you, and congratulations," the bright, busy voice of Poppy Pomfrey broke her concentration. "Now, stand up. If it is a Midsummer child, you should be exactly fifteen weeks along now. Let's have a look."

Self conscious nerves flared up, as Hermione stood for inspection. Hands smoothed the soft dress over her growing abdomen. Her stomach stuck just beyond that of her swollen bust, a soft curve from below her ribs to pelvis. The mediwitch hmmed and clucked, instructing her to sit on the transfigured examination bed. Fingers probed, finding what Hermione did; she grew with child, not food.

"Yes, fifteen weeks exactly," murmured the mediwitch, casting various diagnostics over her. "Everything is normal, you are within healthy measurements, as is your child," quill recorded the results on her medical record. "You have taken remarkable care of yourself, all things considered. Be sure to continue with your potions, as they will make a world of difference. Do you need any more stretch salve?"

"No, I'm fine for the moment, though I will need some soon," Hermione answered as the mediwitch buzzed around her.

"Good, good," the other witch nodded. "When you run low, tell me. I'll be seeing you next week, and, if you are still in good health, we will push it to every other week. Listen to your body, missy. If you yawn, go to sleep. Keep your feet elevated when you rest to reduce swelling, and, most importantly, do not exhaust yourself magically."

"Yes ma'am," the brunette mock saluted, eyes twinkling with amusement.

"As you should," Madam Pomfrey's lips twitched. "Minerva, your lioness is fit to ward!"

The three women spent the best part of two hours walking the perimeter as Hermione added her own wards to the heavily fortified homestead. A wave goodbye, and the young bookworm settled in front of the fire of her private sitting room. The exercise tired her, making her retire early for the evening. In no time, eyes drooped, and, taking the prescribed advice, Hermione tucked into her quilt cocoon of warmth.

oOo oOo oOo

Sunday evening came and went, taking Minerva to Hogwarts with it. The first few days alone confused Hermione. The lack of other humans around, unfamiliar and odd, soon bled into an easy cadence of life at Garden Meadows. Mornings found her taking a stroll around the house, as much for the fresh air as the exercise. Next came a protein filled breakfast, followed by research. At some point, the elves would deliver a light lunch. After tea, Hermione found herself plucking away at the piano-forte or reading in the library. Dinner, followed by tea, and then bed.

Poppy's next visit came and went, and the mediwitch announced her healthy as an ox, her child doubly so. So week two alone started. Nights bled into mornings which ran into afternoons only to set into night once more. Time lost meaning, as each day followed the same pattern. One night, particularly exhausted from a longer than average afternoon stroll along the bluffs, the young lioness cuddled up to her favorite pillow and drifted to Morpheus' realm.

Warmth and contentment radiated her entire being. A happy hum vibrated in her chest as she snuggled deeper into the source. Hypnotic crackles and pops from fire lulled her senses. Half asleep, hands stroked her body in full, lazy sweeps. Fragrant, balmy breezes swirled through the air. A gentle rumbling sigh echoed her sentiments, and caused a languid smile the bloom across her face. Her Goddess purred in response, eyes closed. Hermione melted under his tender touch. The subtle sway of a hammock rocked in the wind, quilt tucked around them.

Companionable silence fell. In that time, her Goddess filled her with instinctive understanding of her mate. Half forgotten memories and disconnected thoughts righted themselves in her conscious mind. Peace visited them both, and neither hurried to disrupt it.

At long last, he murmured, "I believe this is what women refer to as popping."

"Does it satisfy you?" a soft chuckle answered, one hand twining with his.

"More than I can say," he whispered, breath hot against her ear. "I did not realize women swell so at this point. It is not an unwelcomed discovery, I find."

"Your progeny fills me so," the Goddess exhaled. "I am told that all is well, and we fall within healthy parameters.

"I am glad to hear of it," his nose nuzzled her neck with deep, intoxicating breaths. "When I inevitably try to deny you, remind me of this fact."

"Which fact in particular," Hermione's Goddess cooed. "There are many you will deny, we both know that."

"You already know my deepest desire, mate," his deep voice rumbled, fond and amused. "Remind myself about the pleasure I take in your growing form." One large hand wandered to a breast and gently squeezed, the other continued to stroke her swollen stomach. "What it feels like, what it means, and make sure I understand your love for this child. I will be quite shocked when I realize your condition. Understand, you only have Samhain to make me see sense."

"I would do without your instruction," a feminine, breathy laugh came from her. Her smaller hand covered his large one, and guided it. Soft pressure felt out the area. "And this, my God, is where our child grows."

"You are magnificent," her God's ragged voice gasped. "Do not leave me alone."

His arms wound possessively around her, as if letting her go would lose her forever. A flash of anger and compassion lit through Hermione as a new pattern formed in her mind. The only person to be like this, so afraid of driving off anyone who cared, happened to be Harry. Harry, who dealt with a horrible case of neglect and abuse. Fury boiled her blood, as she wished to seek retribution for those who abused her mate.

"I promise, you will no longer be alone," Her Goddess whispered, voice passionate and fierce. "You will have a home to return to, a mate waiting, and anything else within my power to provide. You are _mine_ , and I take care of what is _mine._ "

Her God trembled with repressed emotion. Nose buried in her hair. Arms tightened around her, firm and rigid. Tears fell upon her neck as silent sobs wracked his lithe frame. She turned to her side, gathering him into her arms, and rocked the hammock. Cooed words and comforting touches introduced him to physical affection. One hand played through his silky, thick hair, twirling pieces as she gently tugged it.

Hermione understood. The instinctual God and Goddess emoted with an honest intensity that rarely happened in the waking world. To allow so much feeling to escape required a deep sense of security. Even in this facsimile of the festival, their own, private escape from reality, they held some semblance of emotion back. The amount of trust he displayed at this moment humbled Hermione, honoured to receive it.

Time meant nothing in this realm. He stilled in her arms, breathing even, heart thumping at a steady pace. Nose nuzzled his back. Lips pressed feather soft kisses to his shoulder, her Goddess determined to repay the earlier favor. Hermione wholeheartedly agreed. Fingers traced lazy swirls and patterns up and down his side.

Just when she thought he fell asleep, her God softly remarked, "If you continue this, I will think myself spoilt."

If it was suspiciously rough, Hermione and her Goddess wisely ignored it. Instead, she chose to calmly murmur, "You have no choice in the matter. I will give as much of my affections as I please, when I please."

"Dictating things already?" he chuckled, a large hand warm upon hers. "Bossy, aren't you?"

"In some things, yes," her tart retort. "But you like it when I declare such things, hm? I consider it my purpose and pleasure to give such attentions to you."

Incoherent grumbles answered. A soft, fond laugh tinkled in the air as she held him close. For a moment, war ceased. Outside pressures lifted. Nothing existed outside the swinging hammock. He shifted, turning to face her. Firm arms held her in his embrace. Mind slowed to a trickle of thought. Warmth and safety pulled her into Morpheus' realm, body, mind, and soul.

oOo oOo oOo

Hermione jolted awake the next morning. Each, vivid detail played through her mind. A frown marred her face. As she shuffled from room to room, going about her day, memories of the dream flashed about her mind. Assuming her theory to be correct on the identity of her mate, her other half, what the Goddess surmised made an astounding amount of sense. Behavior, comments, mannerisms all flickered through her mind. She caressed her growing stomach, vowing to love her child and, if he'd let her, her mate.

Days slipped past as she worked, simultaneously, on her two big projects. Every day, the boys would talk strategy with her and the rest of the Order. Dueling sounded to be going well, both boys waxing lyrical about the different strategies and techniques they learned from the elder Order members. Sufficiently distracted, neither boy noticed her distraction. Remus attributed it to 'pregnancy brain,' as Tonks often forgot more things recently.

Yet, her second project took much of her attention. When not looking at arithmetic equations or toying with new spells, Hermione found herself wondering just how to convince her mate to accept them. She knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted to be with her, desired it so fiercely that his innermost expression told her, night after night, to make him embrace it. Each night, the dreams turned more desperate, as Samhain drew near. Her heart twisted, pained by the things she learned.

Finally, the night before, a small grin bloomed on her face. She knew just how to get him to acquiesce to her, accept their child, and allow their bond. With a smile, she began to jot down how she wanted to go about this venture, feeling more lighthearted than she had in days.

* * *

"I must say," Poppy hummed one afternoon after disappearing to check up on Hermione, "the girl is growing quite large. I heard festival children were always that way, but this is my first time seeing it in person."

"Has it grown much since last week?" Minerva asked, leaning back into her chair.

"It has," chuckled the mediwitch. "Even if they are both on the large side of it, they are still normal and healthy. You will be a grandmother yet, Min."

"Merlin, I hope so," laughed the professor.

"And what of her other half," Poppy inquired, her no-nonsense tone coming out. "Festival pairs does not always end happily, Minerva. I will not have her nor the child in danger of the father."

"This is, I believe, a true pairing," she smiled, soft and sweet. "Not a morning after affair, much as what you are thinking of."

A stunned, awed look appeared on the usually unflappable mediwitch's face. Looking every bit the cat she as, Minerva gave a smug, triumphant smirk at her long time friend. Taking a slow sip of tea, the other woman's mouth worked, as if trying to voice questions and exclamations all at once. Instead, Poppy Pomfrey took a deep breath and a sip out of her dainty cup, settling it with the soft clink of china.

"And you're sure about this?" she squeaked.

"Absolutely," Minerva gave a girlish sigh. "She told me all about it, you know. She's worried that he will spurn her due to the political climate. So, there may be no father to worry of, so to speak."

"Poor dear," Poppy shook her head. "Being rejected is rather the worst of it."

Indeed, Minerva knew all too well. She, herself, had been rejected as had Poppy. Everyone else wondered why the two remained spinster best friends. Few knew the extent, and even those knew not to ask. Yet, she wondered, what life would be like if her mate didn't turn away from her for political gain. Maybe the world would be different, better, alas, she drew those old musings to a close.

"Augusta and I offered to hid Hermione and the babe away," her soft, Scottish brogue hummed through the air after a moment. "I cannot think of anything else we could do for her."

"I will do whatever is needed, of course," Poppy offered. "It is the least I can do." A moment of silence engulfed the pairs they both stared into the crackling fire. "And you, Min? Who do you reckon is her mate?"

"Ah, another to work on the riddle the girl gifted us," chuckled the tabby.

The rest of the evening visit passed in speculation.

oOo oOo oOo

Minerva, face sour and pinched, as she hurried towards the sounds of distress. Just as she came upon the corner that would lead her into the defense hall, a booming baritone rung through the hall. In a second, a grey tabby stood where the imposing woman once did, sticking to the shadows of the halls for the late hour. A disheveled sixth year stood to one side, bawling her eyes out as Amycus Carrow leered at her. Prowling towards them, the black wraith that was the headmaster glided to a stop.

"What have I told you about touching the students, Amycus?" his silky, smooth voice asked, low and lethal.

"I-I didn't mean to do more than scare her, Headmaster Snape," the man snivelled, eyes telling a different tale.

"And yet, here you are, about to break school rules as set by the Dark Lord, tisk tisk," Snape tutted, rounding to face the degenerate. "What would he say if I told him you disobeyed me in the process? I cannot imagine he would be pleased with that."

"What our Lord doesn't know won't hurt him," sneered the man.

"Think again, Amycus," Snape sighed, giving the man a particularly piercing glare reserved for the most dimwitted of students. "The Dark Lord always knows when one of us lies to him, does he not? He specifically told you and your sister to keep your hands off the bright future of the wizarding world. Trying to touch Miss Perkins, who should be going back to Ravenclaw Tower now," he pointedly glared at the girl behind him who scurried on cue, "goes against those very orders. As a _loyal_ death eater, it is my job to report such things to the Dark Lord."

"Y-Yes H-headmaster," gulped Amycus.

"If I see you breaking one of the rules, I will be forced to punish you before the Dark Lord gets his hands on you," the dark man's voice quiet and full of deadly promise. "Is that understood?"

"O-of course, Headmaster," the coward snivelled.

"Good," was the curt answer. "Now, get out of my sight."

Minerva hid behind one of the suits of armor as both men stalked out of the corridor, one swearing up a storm, the other glaring at every passing nook and cranny. A full quarter of an hour passed before she dared to move a whisker out of place. Soft paws padded the rest of her patrol route, mind far from the dark halls before her. It appeared that, at the very least, the headmaster brought some semblance of sanity to the rules on the Death Eaters. She knew he could not deny the more harsh tortures for the students, but in odd ways he tried to take care of them. Even, she snorted, they could not see it.

 _And the whole time,_ she mused, whiskers twitching in the amused manner of felines, _he never even said 'our lord.' Always the Dark Lord._ _How curious._

oOo oOo oOo

A letter from Molly Weasley sat upon her cherry desk. In it, she whined and vilified the Dark Lord, and the Headmaster all but. Yet, it amused her that she thought the actions taken against her daughter and Neville to be quite as ill advised and horrible. Indeed, had it been Albus' office, or, Merlin forbid, her own that students snuck in with the intent to steal something of great value and importance, Molly would offer to withdraw them from the school. The fact stood that the office belonged to a known traitor, and that justified the means. Yet, it shouldn't. He wasn't really a traitor, and, even if he were, it was the headmaster's office.

Similarly, a second parchment sat next to Molly's enthusiastic, yet messy, script. Augusta had been appalled by Neville's actions. In stark contrast, both in opinion of the supposed victim and the strong moral statement, she thought the headmaster went too soft on her grandson. _**He broke into his office to steal an artifact that no one knew for sure where it was, nor who had it,**_ the older woman wrote in her elegant hand. _**I see no reason to coddle him. Yet, the 'dastardly bastard,' as Neville so charmingly put it, assigned both the young Miss Weasley and my Nev a week with Hagrid. Hagrid! He might as well assigned the boy to work in the greenhouse for the rest of the autumn term. And the audacity of Molly Weasley to try and commiserate with me over such an issue. I cannot say she has behaved with the level of decorum I had expected of her.**_

Sipping the fine, Scottish whisky in her tumbler, Minerva chuckled. Hermione had outright laughed at the punishment, though worried quite a bit in the Order book. She knew the sword to be one of the few objects necessary for the project Albus left the trio. However, she decided to tell the boys to keep calm and carry on, as they had no solid evidence either way yet. Harry expressed some amusement over the phrase, as did Remus, while the rest were left to wonder at the obvious muggle allusion.

Favorite eagle quill out, the tabby animagus penned a response to the irate woman, hoping to ruffle feathers and reassure her that the only true punishment the children were to receive would be due to Hagrid's cakes rather than any real discipline. Within moments, she tied the missive to her owl and turned once more to Augusta's missive. They spoke of many things. After Samhain, the older woman was to reside with Hermione at Garden Meadows until the winter holidays. Hermione expressed a cautious hope that, if all went well, she and her mate would be bonded on the Winter Solstice. The young witch welcomed them both to come and stay, as the house felt far too large for her.

Over the past few weeks, outside of Hermione's genius journals, Minerva and Augusta took to anticipating the reveal of the young witch's mate. They both took Hermione's words of wisdom to heart, and found several men who could fit the bill. While Minerva lent towards one, Augusta favored the other, though started to see her way. Even Poppy seemed taken with the idea of who her mate was, and had remarked earlier that day that it would mean they would both be grandmothers.

What worried the old biddies, was the increasingly distraught nature of the journal entries. For the past week, Hermione reported having the dreams of her normally stoic and calm partner breaking down to her, begging her in some ways, to keep him. She asked and begged for advice, with little in way of wisdom to share.

 _ **Keep thinking, my dear,**_ Augusta wrote that afternoon. _**I have faith that you will figure out just what you need to do. After all, you are the one who knows him the best.**_

 _ **Unless,**_ an equally sly response from the mediwitch in her recently acquired journal, _**You wish to reveal who it is. With such information, we can better prepare and advise you of prudent steps to take.**_

The Gryffindor witch stood steadfast, though, resolving not to tell any of them until after Samhain. All the same, they wrote to each other, hoping to help their young friend. With a sigh, Minerva replaced her tumbler and went to bed. She threw a prayer to the gods to watch over her young cub and help her through the times ahead. Merlin knew they would be difficult if he rejected her now.

oOo oOo oOo

"Last, but not least, with Halloween and Samhain this weekend, I draw your attention to the patrols," the dour headmaster intoned, parchment in hand. "As per usual, all those who observe the ancient ways have the Friday of the holiday and Saturday afterwards off, with some of you having Saturday evening and night patrols. Amycus and Filius, you are both on Friday night patrol, with Aurora and Alecto going around and keeping the miscreants out of trouble Saturday morning."

Minerva blinked, not daring to look anywhere but the schedule in front of her. As she perused it, she found nothing amiss. She had the whole of the weekend off, not expected until Sunday night patrol. Only she, the headmaster himself, and a few of the assorted faculty, Poppy included, were given the weekend free. Indeed, the Carrows, always with a responsible member of staff had patrols or study halls, and always separate.

"You are all expected to attend the Halloween feast, and, as normal, if you are not scheduled for duty during the day, Sunday evening's meal," he drawled, baritone bored and haughty. "If that is all," and he swept out of the room.

Filius threw up the wards after the Carrows cackled about their time to hunt for rebels after a large holiday. Unfortunately for them, and a stroke of good luck for everyone else, the children were always sedate and sated after a good Halloween feast. The sweets tended to get them to their common rooms and crash. With any luck, there would be very few to discipline, making the weekend a good one to 'over schedule' them, as it were.

"So, Halloween draws up on us again," Pomona hummed.

"Yes, would be better if the Carrows allowed my choir to rehearse, but no matter," Filius sighed, settling into his chair.

"It is almost unsettling how easily the school has transitioned," Aurora muttered. "Don't get me wrong, it's just odd."

"Severus is making it appear, in all ways, that it is business as usual," Minerva nodded. "You know, I caught him just the other day rescuing a student from Amycus Carrow. Tried to force the poor thing."

"How despicable," ground out Pomona. "Absolutely no professionalism, no real abilities whatsoever. One must wonder why they are even in this school."

"Most likely to keep an eye on us, the students, and our venerable Headmaster," snorted the Slytherin. "I heard he gave your cubs a slap on the wrist, though, Minerva?"

"Indeed," snorted the stern woman. "Went into his office to steal something of importance and both received a week with Hagrid and his cauldron cakes." The staff shared a chuckle at the thought. "Perhaps more punishment than he thought. How did you know?"

"I heard the Carrows cackling about how they went into the Headmaster's office right afterwards and took the sword to their master, before the Headmaster so much as returned from escorting the pair to the tower," the astronomy professor shrugged. "On my way back to my rooms from a sixth year class, you know. He did not sound pleased in the least. Glad I could skirt around that argument."

As the rest of the faculty shared their weekly updates on their students, the Carrows, and their headmaster, Minerva fought a deep frown. She now had the evidence that Hermione and the boys needed, and it did not please her. The woman hoped that the young witch would have something up her sleeve. If not with her own creation, then with some research. Ears caught onto conversation as it switched to the holiday and scheduling, her name spoken by Filius.

"...And we know Minerva always goes to Samhain in the Irish festival grounds," his high tenor hummed, perusing the parchment in front of him. "Very good of the headmaster to give you the weekend off, I say."

"I did not expect it," she answered truthfully. "You would think, with how near locked down the school is, he would not allow _me,_ of all people, to leave."

"It's not wholly unexpected, though," mused Pomona. "You see, Severus has always honored the old ways, himself. I'm sure he is more understanding of your devotion. He also has time off this weekend, you see, and that man is a workaholic if I ever knew one."

A general murmur of agreement swept through the room once more, and, soon enough, the meeting broke up. Instead of walking towards her chambers, Minerva meandered towards the hospital wing, needing to speak with the mediwitch. They typically went together to the festival grounds, and this year planned on stopping afterwards to visit Hermione. Her mind abuzz, she stepped into her friend's domain to plan what would prove to be quite the interesting weekend.

"And where did you get these potions, Mister Robings?" the stern, concerned voice of the nurse rung out.

"I-I don't know, Madam Pomfrey," the boy sniffled. "Professor C-Carrow had m-me under the c-crutiartus and when it stopped, it as there. I heard the Headmaster talking t-to Professor Carrow and l-left when he sh-shooed me away."

"Very well," she sighed, Minerva finding her way towards the office, hearing, "Drink all of it down, good lad, and now this, good. In the morning, if you are feeling well, I will release you. Just sleep for now."

Still silence took place of the fussing. Minerva chuckled as she heard her friend coming closer and closer, her quiet mutterings amusing the tabby to no end. Catching sight of her old friend, Poppy smiled and threw up the wards, entering her office and flouncing into her chair. They called for tea, discussed the schedules, and settled on a course of action. Only then, did the matron crack.

"For the love of Merlin, it's like the boy is apologizing to me," she groused after their third shared cup. "Always with the necessary potions in their pockets or bags, just mysteriously there, as if I don't know his potions work by this point in time -ha!"

"Should I inform our illustrious Headmaster that you have forgiven his transgressions and see fit to be his honorary, adoptive mother once more?" snarked the transfiguration mistress.

"Pah," Poppy huffed, "If he is intent on this game of shadows and subtleties, I will give him a game of shadows. Not like this whole ploy made sense to start with."

"Oh?" Minerva raised a brow. "How did it not? It appears as if no one else is truly questioning his motives. Only the faculty and staff, with one or two others, are a bit more curious than not."

"That's because they haven't had to stitch him up and put him together for the past twenty five years or so," the matron sighed. "The past two years have been bad, Min. Very, very bad, and no matter how I begged Albus or him, they wouldn't relent. Then, low and behold, he comes back, bloodied, unconscious, hanging by a thread again. It's not a job you do for any other reason than it had to be done."

Brow furrowed, thin lips drew into a frown. Rarely had they Order thought of what Severus must have gone through as a spy for their side. They simply accepted he did it. Out of sight, out of mind, no one saw the consequences of that role. Oh, she saw the limps, how thin he became, or how pale he'd be, but never had Minerva connected the dots. Blood rushed from her face thinking of the horrors the man must live through, even to this day, and saw her friend's point.

"Don't feel bad, Min," Poppy patted her right arm. "Severus is a proud boy who doesn't want anyone to see his weakness or suffering. Goodness knows he becomes even more petulant when he needs help, and that is with me. I imagine he'd be insufferable if he thought anyone else figured it out, let alone knew. No, I didn't see Albus' death like so many other did. I only hope others will come to see him the way I do."

"There's chance for that yet, Poppy," Minerva murmured. "And with some luck, it will be very soon."


	7. This is Halloween

**October 1997**

Samhain dawned, cool and crisp, at Garden Meadow. Hermione stretched as Tifty brought her morning tea and crackers. With a small smile, she began gathering her things. Morning ablutions flew by in a flurry of natural oils and attempting to tame her wild hair. Forgoing her normal dress, Hermione slipped on the woolen, traditional robes. With one, last, searching glance into the thankfully quiet mirror, she swirled out of her rooms.

With pockets full of offerings, a small, black journal, and her wand, Hermione began her trek to the apparation point. The elves shoved tea and breakfast at her, not hearing of her leaving before "feeding the Mistress and her baby." Bemused and exasperated, the brunette witch sat down and pondered house elves' love of children. At half nine, chuckles followed the witch out the door as squeaky voices gave her advice for the day.

"And don't be forgetting the foods for the baby," Tilly instructed, face serious and intent.

"I won't," Hermione smiled.

"And if yous gets too cold, goes to the fires," another elf nodded.

"Or gets the blanket we packed fors you," a third intoned.

"We's can't be taking care of yous as we's should," Tilly added with a nod.

"I understand," the witch replied, amused. "But I can take care of myself for the evening."

"And if all goes wells, we's gets a Master," the third elf, Piny, clapped.

"We's would like to has a proper family," squeaked Laty, the second elf.

"I'd like a proper family, too," Hermione agreed. "Now, if I could, I would bend down and hug you all-" to which a chorus of high pitched protest answered, "-but seeing as I can't, I won't. I will see you all tomorrow. Make sure the guest quarters are set up for Augusta, and two extra rooms aired out in case Minerva and Poppy wish to stay the night."

"We's will, Mistress," Tilly intoned, the others nodding all around her.

"Wonderful," a happy clap answered. "Now, wish me luck. I'm going to need it."

Cries of good luck followed her out the door as it closed behind her. A shiver of anticipation slid down her back as her feet trod the now familiar gravel path. Just beyond the wards, Hermione turned back and reflected on her home. Augusta assured her, time and time again, that her family would grow into the size. Minerva insisted that her grandbabies be raised in a proper homestead. Yet, Hermione couldn't help but fear the alternative. What if her plea fell on deaf ears? A tangy gust blew her hair and robes, ruffling in the wind like wings. _It won't be from lack of trying if he doesn't accept me,_ Hermione thought, fierce and determined.

A crack echoed through the wood, and in a moment, she found herself in the beautiful grounds. Colorful hues painted the clearing, magically sustained for the holiday. Already, celebrants gathered in groups, eating and talking. Feet wandered across the clearings, finger tips brushing the stones and trees. Old magic radiated from the very ground she walked. Many knowing smiles greeted her at every turn, people asking after her health. The causal acceptance and commiseration from several women in similar conditions heartened the brunette. Anxiety eased away as the sun climbed in the sky.

Hot, non-alcoholic cider in hand, Hermione passes several enjoyable hours with her Cornwall friends, talking about children and gardens. She found them to be a witch and muggle, joined together by the festival over thirty years prior. Together, they traversed the ever growing crowd. Evening drew ever nearer, and the knot of anticipation and anxiety reformed in the pit of her stomach once more. As before, she settled upon one of the hay bales. Merry makers laughed all around, music filtering through the crowd. Excited dancers twirled around the center, and the same, ethereal aura settled upon the grounds.

Resplendent oranges, lavenders, pinks, and reds colored the sky when the sun set for the day, casting a warm glow upon the celebrants. Toes tapped to the rhythmic drums and strings as darkness wrapped the grounds in it's embrace. Mage lights flickered around the grounds, casting an eerie, cool glow upon the revelers. Music crescendoed, swelling and growing, only to suddenly end, as the previous hypnotic sway of dancers and drums stopped. From the distant end of the clearing, the elders entered, robes billowing out dramatically.

A sense of excited anticipation weaved through the air, thick and fragrant with incense. Once within the circle of unlit bonfires, guttural chants echoed across the gathering. Magic swirled around each individual, pulsing with a life of it's own. Eyes fluttered closed, power filled her, and soon, only sensation remained. The last, loud syllable, shouted for all to hear, rolled over her. An orgasmic power spiked through her body, pleasurable and warm.

Figured blurred into a chromatic mess. Greens twirled with pinks, as blues melded into orange and yellows into red. Body swayed, enthralled with the sight before her. All around, fellow festival goers laughed and danced, magic twisting through and around each individual. The thrall pulled at her, and Hermione allowed herself to live in the moment, aware of nothing but the festival.

Suddenly, a lick of warmth slid down her spine. Alert and ready, brown curls flung to the side as eyes hunted for the source of the delicious heat. To her left, some ways off, she saw the midnight blue swirls of her mate. Goddess, already to the fore, purred to life at the familiar feel of his magic. A slow smile bloomed upon her face. Hermione stood, swaying to the drum beats filling the air. She purposefully slid into the crowd, throwing a feminine smirk behind her. For a quarter hour, they played an intricate game of cat and mouse. Every time he got close, she would disappear into the dancers only to reappear further down, until she led him into the clearing from their dreams.

Shadows hid her as she watched a shade glide into the grassy retreat. The same, powerful aura surrounded him, calming yet exciting. His sure, graceful gait led him towards her, and, before he could touch her, Hermione held his hands and spun in his arms. A warm, strong torso pressed against her back, and, for the first time in a long time, she sighed. Tranquility and belonging flooded her being, allowing her to completely relax if but for a moment. She felt his sigh, contented and relaxed, as he slowly put his arms around her, only to stiffen. _Here we go,_ Hermione sighed, ready to fight tooth and claw.

"I see the dreams were not false," his thrice twined voice murmured in her ear, apprehension coloring his tone.

"And I cannot be happier," girl, woman, and crone hummed as she snuggled into his arms.

"Is that so?" the bland response.

"Yes," the murmured response, "I find I am anticipating motherhood with growing excitement each passing day." Hermione twined her hands with his, guiding them into a loose hug. "I love our child very much, more than I thought possible."

"You don't say," he breathed, body tense and arms unmoving around her. "I cannot imagine this being an acceptable outcome."

"It is rather ill timed," Hermione demurred, "but I cannot find it in myself to be upset by this. Really, when is a good time to have a child?" Small hands guided large to her growing stomach. "There is only one thing missing from my picture of happiness, though."

"And what could that be?" Her mate asked a moment later.

Turning her head, breath whispered into his ear, "The father."

His throat bobbed with the gulp, as her nose nuzzled. She could hear all of the objections still stuck in his chest before he voiced them. Arms began to hold her tighter. Patient as can be, Hermione allowed her mate to gather his thoughts. Hips softly swayed to the distant music.

"Am I to assume you wish for me to be that father?" His voice thick with emotion.

"There will be no other," she answered.

"And if I cannot, will not?" her mate further questioned, a type of urgency in his voice.

"Then, there our child will not have a father," her trembling voice provided, hands unconsciously gripping his tighter. "Surely, you must know that I am your's, and only your's."

He shuddered once more under her touch, arms holding her close. Cinnamon eyes closed, soaking in the comfort of his arms. Warm air tickled her ear and top of her head. Yet, she still felt the conflict raging within him.

"You will not wish to be with me once you find out who I truly am," he breathed, "I will not be good for you or our child. I will only bring pain and difficulty into your lives."

"Let me be the judge of that, will you?" a light, airy tone responded. "I assure you that, no matter who you are, I will want you. I do want you, right now. You, this child, and the others we decide to have." He stiffened once more, the air stilling in his lungs. With a soft, tinkling laugh, Hermione continued, "Yes, I want more children with you, and only with you."

"How can you say that without looking at my face?" an almost angry question shot from him.

"Last I checked, the ancient magics match those most compatible. You will find I am not particularly vain, that I judged a person by their actions and abilities rather than their appearance," her tart retort. "I'm not exactly the most attractive person, either."

"Somehow, I highly doubt that," he dryly remarked.

"Pray, give me the courtesy of at least forming my own opinions," she wryly stated. "You may find my conclusions quite shocking."

"Then humor me," his voice slid over her senses. "If I were to say no, what exactly would happen?"

"You will never see or hear from either of us again," she sighed, small and vulnerable. "I will respect your wishes. I just ask that you think about it. I know you that you want a family. It would be my pride and pleasure to give you one." Hermione guided his hands to caress the full curve of her growing torso. "Just as I know you enjoy seeing me swell and grow with your child." One hand slip up to her full chest, "In addition to my new form being most pleasing to you."

He shuddered behind her, hands slowly, tentatively roaming, feeling cataloging. Pleasant warmth followed his fingertips, eliciting a purr and arch from the witch. Apprehension fought the burgeoning hope. Here stood a woman who represented more than just a mate and family, but a new lease on life, and she knew it. A spark of instinctive knowledge filled Hermione, her goddess lending a helping hand as she just _knew._

She led one hand to her swollen stomach once more, and whispered, "You wouldn't leave your son without his father, would you?"

A heartbeat of silence followed another, as the wizard behind her stilled completely and stopped breathing.

"M-my son?" he choked, voice full of emotion.

"Mhm," her serene voice murmured, pressing his hand to her, "He's right here, saying hello. Can't you feel him? He's saying hello to his daddy."

Indeed, she felt the flutter within her. Not for the first time within the last few weeks did she feel the peculiar sensation. Each occurrence made her heart swell, and she could feel the last of her wizard's resistance crumbling as those same small movements shook his reality. Tentative and slow, strong arms wrapped around her waist, face buried in her hair. The hold felt tight, possessive, hopeful, like a piece of her finally clicked into place. All the while, one hand tenderly stroked her in a soothing, repetitive motion. Time passed, only the distant sounds of the festival and the breathing of her mate met her ears.

"You are a persistent witch," a hot puff of air tickled the side of her face.

"And you quite enjoy it," she chuckled.

"Perhaps," he nuzzled her as he relaxed into the hold. "Though, I must say, I did not know that women typically were this large so soon. You cannot be more than five months along."

"Not even, though close," a slow, relaxed grin grew on her face, happiness radiating from her. "Apparently, festival children and those of ancient magics grow large. Of course, part of it is that my mother's side is known to grow large. Don't worry, we are healthy, if on the large side."

"I am glad to hear," her mate purred, lightly nibbling her ear. "And you are quite right," his slow and gentle ministrations continued, "I find these changes more than acceptable and agreeable."

The moon shone down on them once more, as he showed her just how agreeable he found her. In return, she showered him in affectionate touches, demonstrating her happiness at his acceptance. Before the night ended, she rummaged about in her robes for the journal. Small, black, and in the form of most research journals, two silver owls sat on a branch, with a black, leather strap holding the cover closed.

"I want you to have this," she handed him her gift. "A way to communicate. Only you will be able to see the words, and the handwriting will appear generic. I have it's twin with me." A similar journal emerged from her robes. "It will chime when there is a message, and appear as something innocuous to others. Should you wish to converse and perhaps consciously get to know one another better."

"This is a marvelous piece of magic," her mate murmured, leaning forward and giving her a lingering kiss. "I cannot thank you enough."

"Allowing me to care for you is all I ask," she responded, tone fierce and earnest.

"And if I wish to see you once more, outside of the festival?"

"You must ask my mother, of sorts, for me," she smirked, "I cannot have just anyone coming in unannounced."

"Oh?" he asked, inquisitive and bemused.

"Of course not," her tinkling laugh filled the air. "Our home is rather well protected, you will find. Merlin, himself, would not be able to find it, let alone enter. I do believe you will be quite proud of some of the wards about the place. You are welcome to add whatever you wish necessary. Perhaps make it impervious to a century's siege instead of several decades."

"Color me intrigued," he murmured, lips trailing kisses down her neck. "And we have a home? What must I know about it?"

"Well, it is up north," she tried to answer, coherency flying out the window with every touch. "Along the ocean. There is ample space for several gardens, and, ah," she moaned, "several rooms and suites to fill."

"Is that a challenge?" he growled after a moment of blissful sensation.

"A promise," the lusty groan, "Definitely a promise."

* * *

 **November 1997**

Golden rays of light pierced through shut eyelids. Eyes fluttered open, and arms flung out. No warm spot underneath the quilts, and yet, a feeling of supreme satisfaction filled the brunette. The wheels moved on their own now, and, hopefully, they went her way. With a smug smile, she sat up and redressed, cooing to her round abdomen. Her hand rested on herself as she walked towards the main festival grounds. Her large smile never faded.

Sitting towards one side upon a hay bale, she conjured her patronus and blinked. Instead of her ever cheeky and fun loving otter, before her fluttered a large eagle owl. Unable to recall the last time she cast the charm, as far back as the attack last June, Hermione studied the bird as it hovered around her. Shaking her head, an uttered message sent the bird on it's way. Keen eyes observed the mess of limbs and quilts, robes and cloaks around her. Revelers slept on, most awake long after the moon set. A stifled yawn reminded the young witch of her own lack of sleep.

"Ah, there you are lass," a familiar Scottish brogue called out.

"Minerva, it's good to see you again," she gave her mentor a shy smile.

"As it my pleasure," the stern witch smiled, "and look at you! My, how you've both grown. I say you are simply radiant."

Hermione looked down, a pleased blush coloring her cheeks. A booming laugh followed, and cinnamon eyes glanced upwards to find the frank Augusta close with the mediwitch. She beamed at the older women, and walked forward to greet each. Both witches complimented her appearance and progress, Augusta particularly effusive as she had yet to see the young witch. They stood for half an hour before another large yawn wracked through Hermione.

"And that is our cue to leave," the nurse tutted, bustling the others along. "You need your rest, and we can cluck just as well over tea in your home."

The three women walked as Hermione more so waddled towards the nearest apparation point. Within moments, they stood in front of the charming homestead in Scotland, happily chatting amongst themselves. As soon as they neared the doors, an excited Tilly opened it and tittered. Several more elves appeared, taking cloaks and bags, bringing tea, and generally fussing around Hermione. Soon, all tucked upon the large chaise, the older ladies questioned the younger.

"And what of your evening, darling?" Augusta asked, prim and proper with her cup of tea. Hermione could only smile. "Ah, that well, I see."

"Oh yes," she gushed. "I was worried for a time. Of course, it came as a shock when he realized I am truly pregnant. He must've thought it was projection of his desires in our dreams. Afterwards, he tried to distance himself."

"Men can be quite daft," Poppy nodded in understanding.

"Quite thick, indeed," Hermione laughed. "I told him, several times, that I am quite happy and content, even. I am enjoying being pregnant now, seeing the changes in myself, and feeling the connection. I never knew I could feel so much love for a being who isn't even part of the world yet. It is rather amazing."

"It truly is a miracle," Augusta smiled, wistful lilt to her voice.

"Of course, he was convinced otherwise," the younger witch added with a wry smile.

"Even the most intelligent of their sex can be as thick as the stones that make up Hogwarts," Minerva snorted.

"I know," she exclaimed. "I've been best friends with Harry and Ronald for the past six and some years."

"That would make you quite familiar with the rather nonsensical and illogical way of boys and men," smirked the transfiguration professor.

"And the injuries they incur upon themselves for no particular reason," sighed the matron. "Speaking of which, stand up, missy. While I'm here, you will be getting a good looking over."

Obligingly, the brunette stood, smoothing down her robes and holding her arms out. A wand tip scanned over her, from head to toe, the matron nodding and clucking all the while. Another flick caused her stomach to glow blue, and one final swish filled the room with a steady heartbeat. Her heart lodged itself in her throat as the steady thrum filled the room. Eyes blinked back unexpected tears, as she laid her hand caressed her round stomach.

"It all checks out, dearie," the matron smiled, voice soft. "You have a healthy baby boy." Hermione gulped back the unexpected emotion. "Now then, sit down and swaddle back up. You still need your rest after last night."

"And you've yet to finish your tale," Augusta added, "We expect details, darling. Just because we got distracted doesn't excuse you from telling a proper tale."

"Ah well," Hermione dabbed her face with a handkerchief as she settled back down. "He kept resisting, and so I continued giving him reason and reassurance. I touched upon a few things I knew from our nights together. He tried to deny it each time."

"Pah, men," Poppy huffed, disgusted and amused at once.

"And so, I kept on breaking those walls down until he finally accepted that I want him in our lives," the brunette witch began to beam. "Hearing he had a son did him in, I think. I don't believe he thought it possible to be a father, let alone have someone look up to him and adore him without reservation. It is an intoxicating though. I simply forced him to acknowledge it."

"My, my, emotional blackmail, Miss Granger," tutted Minerva, who wore an amused, feline expression. "How very Slytherin of you."

"I prefer to say determined, persistent, and resourceful in the acquisition of what I want," her prim retort.

"Excuse my scepticism," snorted the cat animagi. "You have lead us on a merry chase for the past few months, my dear. I do believe we are owed some rather pertinent information."

A twinge of nervousness twisted through Hermione at those words. The big reveal to, perhaps, her greatest supporters. The illogical wish that they would not revile her mate, hate him upon the reveal swirled around her. She knew the rest of the Order, and especially her best friends, would never understand as it stood at this moment. Hope suffused her that these women would understand and accept them.

"And what, pray tell, do you wish to learn?" her coy question.

"Stalling is unbecoming of a young lady such as you," Augusta huffed, sitting taller. "You are not ashamed of him, are you?"

"No," she exclaimed. "Absolutely not! Quite the opposite. In fact, I am rather proud of him. He is clever, intelligent, and powerful, as well as brave. I couldn't have picked better. We are really well suited."

"Then, there is no harm in telling us," Poppy soothed, shooting accusing glances at the other woman. "We will support you no matter the circumstances."

Hermione gazed at all three women in front of her, weighing and judging. No recrimination, nor judgement, colored their gazes. Instead, they appeared rather eager and waiting with baited breath for the answer. A large lungful of air rushed in, and slowly left as she readied herself. Now was the time.

"My mate, if he will truly have me, is Severus," she breathed, a weight lifting from her chest. "Severus Snape."


	8. Dark Side of the Moon

**November 1997**

Severus stood in his private study, frown sculpted upon his face. Settled upon a comfortable, wingback chair in front of a roaring fire, he stared at the small, innocuous journal. Dark, navy leather, supple and soft, wrapped around the light sepia pages. Two owls sat close together, cuddled and content, in beautiful silver line work. Warmth and awe bloomed every time dark eyes caught sight of the little book. Past alarm at the rate in which the witch wormed past his defenses, Severus took to a tried and true Slytherin tactic; self reflection and analyzation.

Two weeks passed since Samhain. A pair of baffling, contradicting weeks. Amber liquid danced along the sides of a crystal snifter, eyes gazed unfocused at the happily crackling fire. It began the day after the holiday, as he sat in this subdued study with Draco, taking afternoon tea with the young man just like every Saturday for the past six and some years. After dissecting the week past, panic seized Severus' chest as the boy took the, albeit rather empty, journal, admiring the workmanship. Instead of the scant lines of text he sent her when he returned that morning to the castle, Draco made his 'over my head face,' and remarked upon the complex alchemical formula.

" _Uncle," the boy chuckled, "Only you would take such an exquisite, fine piece of stationery and turn it into a research journal. At least the enchantments ensure that a rogue potion won't ruin the beautiful workmanship. Wherever did you get it?"_

Profound relief flooded his chest, though years of spying and Slytherin guile kept any trace of it off his face as he answered. The next day, something similar happened with Alecto Carrow, who had taken to propositioning him at all hours. Her sickly face grimaced, hands pawing at his person and possessions. With more incriminating conversation, though surprisingly cryptic, warmth washed over him once more. All the while, he could only think, _you brilliant, brilliant witch._

Since, Severus found no reason to be parted from the journal. A ping echoed in his head, and anticipation swirled in his stomach. Yes, these quiet evenings before he took to stalking the halls brought great joy and relief to his life. The candle floating in the ever growing darkness of his life. They danced around identities and names, describing events without revealing the players. The potions master found himself enthralled by the little game.

His mind flickered to the past few months. Just as she appeared to know Severus' identity before they exchanged journals, he knew her. A stiff drink slid down his throat, burning a pleasant path to his stomach. For months he grappled with the thought of it being true. Despite what people thought of him, Severus possessed a conscious. An annoyingly loud one, if he did say so himself. It absolutely railed against the idea of bedding a student, let alone forming such an intimate connection with one. A student, he often reminded himself, that should have been in school this term. Crackling suffused the dark room, mind lost to the past.

* * *

 **June 1997**

Dark eyes watched the sun dawn on another Midsummer. After the murder, _assisted suicide the old poof said_ , a wry thought snorted, of his mentor, Severus had delivered Draco to his mother, safe and unblemished. After a round of punishment for _not allowing our young Mister Malfoy the chance to prove himself_ as the Dark Lord so eloquently explained, he slipped out to hide as instructed. Never did Severus follow an order faster or with more enthusiasm.

Few knew that over a decade ago, he became the last of the Prince line. Goblins didn't care for wizarding politics, and even less so for pureblood nonsense, thus releasing the lands, fortunes, and titles to him. Ever frugal, always opportunistic, and inherently secretive, careful moves, stolen weekends, and investments saw his vaults grow. Over time he sold the properties beyond help, being almost all of them, and reinforced the small cottage at the edge of the Irish festival grounds. For the past two weeks, Severus recouped, mentally and emotionally.

Yet, the holiday tugged at him. Even now, the magic of the site, subdued into wispy tendrils, called to him. One of the few bright spots of his childhood were his mother's stories of the Wheel of the Year. How muggles believed in one God now, but from the years before Merlin, honored magic, and the Wheel. Childhood dreams lead to youthful curiosity and discovery. He and Lucius went to a Midsummer's festival between sixth and seventh year. Where the blonde aristocrat saw a charming festival, Severus felt the pulse of ancient magic in his blood. Ever since, he never missed a holiday if he could help it.

As the sun crested the sky, magic tugged at the dark wizard, bringing him to the grounds not far off. Already, a palpable energy pulsed through the verdant clearing. Old acquaintances nodded their greetings, exchanging perfunctory conversations. A particular mixed couple, muggle and witch, gave him a knowing smile and mentioned that maybe this year he would find his other half. He scoffed at the pair, who only tittered and laughed before swaying away.

The romanticism of the Wheel drew him to it, though he'd never admit it. Those stories of couples finding themselves their other half still filled his mind, his mother's voice dreamy and wistful. Even as an adult, Severus hid some hope, even from himself. He dreamed, on more than one occasion, that Lily would come to the festival and find that he was her match. Needless to say, it never happened. Almost twenty years later, and magic never so much as induced him to notice anyone from the headache of badly blended colors.

Power drew him again and again to the celebrations. Connection with the world, the feeling of being part of something bigger filled an empty part of him, fed his soul and kept him going. Year after year, faces changed and aged, new ones gathered, yet the euphoric sensation of raw magic never changed. Misery, unfair treatment of Slytherins, and ancient magics, those were the constants of Severus' life.

Like the magic addict he was, Severus wandered to his normal boulder near the path that led from his cottage. Beautiful hues arched across the sky, trailed by the inky blue of night. Fanatic fervor drew to a fever pitch, as drums and strings and voice rose and fell in jaunty, rhythmic harmony. Not even he, a man thought to have no soul or emotions, resisted to tap toes in time. Then, full night descended upon the clearing, and all emotions and magic pulled taught, a bowstring pulled back, waiting to be released. Drawing to his full height, dark eyes followed the processional only three people to his right.

Robes fluttered in the balmy, fragrant breeze as the solemn elders floated towards the center of the gathered men and women. Taking their places, powerful chants filled the air. Energy rose and fell, a living, electric current, connecting and feeding from everyone gathered with its shocking embrace. Eyes fluttered shut against his own volition as wave after wave of ancient magic flowed over and around him. Ecstasy blinded him as the leys used those gathered as living conduits.

Music sprung up, laughter bellowed all around, and even a few sobs punctuated the air. Emotionally spent, as always he felt for a few moments, the dark wizard leaned against his typical haunt. A small, genuine smile bloomed across his distinct face, living completely in the familiar, pleasurable moment. While the dancers twirled, and the merry makers laughed and drank, Severus communed with magic, felt it's caress within every cell of his body.

A soft sigh preluded the opening of eyes to the scene in front of him. Just as every holiday for every year, colors of all different hues, tints, and saturation blended into a bizarre facsimile of a painter's palette. Organized chaos undulated, some colors vibrating against each other as others smoothly complemented those near. A sudden stop came, body tense, senses alert and on edge. Anticipation tingled through his veins before Severus even knew why. Not realizing he began to move, air caught in his throat. Across the fire stood a woman, and, unlike the garish, neon-esque colors of the others, her warm, earthy ambers and burgundies beckoned to his very core.

Unable to stop, not willing to try, Severus met her halfway, knowing she saw no other just as he. Legs lead past her, the warm, pleasant tingle close behind. He heard stories of such things. True magical mates were rare, but gathered and gossiped for the festivals like old ladies at tea parties. Just as his mother's whispered words, their stories wove a type of idyllic, romantic ideal he never believed he would possess in his lifetime. Even now, his God firmly at the forefront of his being, Severus could scarcely believe he found _her._ His other half. His soul mate.

Removed from the main grounds, rational thought bled into the instinctual. Bright, glowing light illuminated the clearing, and the beautiful creature before him. His God murmured and cajoled, seduced and enticed with honied words and silky tones. Small hands answered his questing touch, fire and desire boiled his blood, lost in a moment of time. Hands roamed the woman magic chose for him, peaks and valleys in all of his favorite places.

They came together, magic sparking and arcing, bodies moving in time. Even without knowing her face, Severus could not imagine a more enthralling, erotic sight. Abandoning the last of his coherent thoughts, the God took full control, leaving the man to the intense pleasure and bliss. At last, when thoughts began to clear, and breathing came easier and slower, Severus held her close. _For one night,_ he prayed, _let me have this acceptance for just one night._

oOo oOo oOo

A few hours later, the sounds of the musicians dying to it's final songs alerted the man in the clearing to the time. An arm propped his head and torso up, as Severus imprinted this moment into his mind. The task Albus set before him, he knew, assured a short life expectancy. If Minerva and the staff didn't kill him by Yule, then the Dark Lord would by the end of the year. The God and Goddess showed him mercy, he sighed, allowed him this one, timeless moment before he entered hell on earth.

Leaning down, with a tenderness he typically did not feel, lips brushed against a smooth forehead before he regretfully stood and gathered his cloak. Tucking the transfigured quilt around her, heels turned and stalked out of the clearing, back towards his own momentary refuge.

A part of him, a very large one, wanted to know his Goddess' identity. Magic clung to the people gathered, whether awake and dancing to the final farewells of the holiday, or asleep in various states of undress and sobriety. Something about her magic felt familiar, more than just the God and Goddess within them finding one another once more. Like a homemade blend of tea once tasted and always remembered, but unable to place. Yet, the practical voice on his shoulder asserted it kept him safe. It wouldn't do for his other half to wake up only to attack him. Especially, if she did know him.

A soft snort swirled behind him as Severus left the grounds, entered his cottage, and promptly fell into bed.

* * *

 **July 1997**

Severus snorted, leaning back as he watched the flames in the grate of Spinner's End. The old, dilapidated house, kept together by magic, duct tape, and a prayer, became his work address, as it were. Told, in no uncertain terms, that the Dark Lord had need of him soon, Severus left the peaceful cottage behind. The sun glowed through the hazardous smog of the neighborhood, slowly sinking into the western skies.

Wild, crazy thoughts flew around his mind, making occluding something of a challenge. Ever since the Midsummer celebration, Severus spent the time torn between wondering if the whole thing were just a particularly cruel, vivid dream, or almost pining away. The later disturbed him the most. Fiercely private and always independent, part of the taciturn professor rebelled, and quite strenuously, against this foreign yet natural need. It ebbed and flowed, growing as the tide, and, he surmised, with the degree of need from his mate.

When feeling particularly whimsical, or late at night, scenarios played out upon the cinema of his mind. Severus knew himself to be possessive and covetous, guarding precious treasures with jealousy befitting a dragon hovering over his hoard. If not already disgusted by his looks, admittedly made worse by lack of proper care and a few well placed glamours, women had the proclivity to be rather frightened of these character flaws. At the best of times, he became overprotective and high handed. At the worst, manipulative to the extreme to achieve his goals. In this case, his instinctual mind continually whacked its conscious, rational counterpart to protect what was his.

All in all, when the mark burned upon his skin, Severus welcomed the pain. Clarity returned to the chaos, galvanizing the man towards a single purpose. Thoughts properly locked within his mind. Soon, he stood before the reptilian overlord, stroking his cold blooded ego. The Order were to move Potter tonight. Severus knew, because he was the one who accosted Mundungus and implanted the idea. Allowing a self satisfied smirk to flash across his features, a small crowd of 'chosen ones' followed behind their leader, a grotesque duck leading his equally disturbing ducklings to water.

Disillusioned, all thoughts and emotions drained from Severus. Inky blackness arched above him as keen eyes could barely make out a single star in the face of all the light beneath them. A sedan of some sort pulled from the driveway. A starling call directed two scouts to investigate. Moments later, they returned, a silent confirmation that none in the vehicle were Potter. Instead of chasing after for sport, the group of anxious Death Eaters hung in the air, circling the house.

Without a moment's notice, a sizeable group burst from the wards. Seven Potters, a wrinkle Severus did not anticipate, ducked and dodged, casting at the cloud of black velvet and silver leafed porcelain. A knot formed in his stomach, wand arm waving and casting, trying to innocently deflect Death Eater's attempts at his secret (even to them) comrades. A well aimed curse stripped him of his mask, earning the ire of all the Potter-protector duos in his vicinity.

Yet, even as he ducked and dodged and barrel rolled swerving as the Dark Lord screamed into the night, flying fast, the need to protect reared, ugly and loud. Somewhere, amongst this throng of combatants, his mate flew. The delicious heat and tingling anticipation danced across his skin, egging him closer to her, only to be detained by several nasty hexes and curses. Deciding that the Dark Lord flew too far forward for him, and that most of the rear guard were too busy to notice the Potters in the back had split off, Severus thought it a good time to turn around. He would need time to organize his mind before facing the Dark Lord.

oOo oOo oOo

Later that night, Severus laid upon the lumpy, oddly damp mattress at Spinner's End. Alone and able to fully review and analyze the night, his throat tightened and stomach twisted anew. She had been there. In danger. If not for the immense relief his God felt hours earlier, Severus wouldn't even have a clue as to whether or not his other half lived through that fight. The only Order member killed that night happened to be Moody. However, that did not take into account any fatalities brought about by damage sustained in battle. Yet, somewhere deep down, he knew her to be alive. Safe.

When the immense wave of relief left him nearly dizzy and content, his damnably rational mind started to piece together the puzzle. No matter how much he accused various Gryffindors of being nosy, insatiable curiosity certainly ran in his house. The difference being, Slytherins were often never caught. This absolute need to know, and then to use said knowledge to his best ability, kept Severus awake, staring at the cracked, yellowing ceiling.

With the bread crumbs falling into his lap, Severus redrew his mental lists. Her magic was familiar, which, as a member of the Order, or someone closely affiliated with it, would make sense. The major demographic of Dumbledore's little group consisted first of men, and second of Gryffindors. Often being true on both accounts. Of the thirteen slots available to rescue Potter, seven were undisguised. Moody, Lupin, Weasley child the eldest, and Hagrid were among them.

Very few women would have gone. Molly would refuse, wanting to keep Ginevera from the fight and worrying about her family all the while. The Veela would have been amongst them, as would Nymphadora. Yet, he couldn't see magic choosing such a person to be his mate. Agreeable enough, Severus found her cheerful clumsiness rather off putting. It remained a marvel, even to him, that she managed to pass his N.E.W.T. classes, let alone became a successful auror. Indeed, he remembered that the metamorphmagus pined for Lupin. It seemed unlikely that a creature, with an absolute bond to a partial creature, and a Hufflepuff would be his. Minerva certainly did not attend, and Mulciber reported Hestia Jones one of the Dursley's escorts. Which left-

Dark eyes widened. No. Absolutely not. Not in this life or the next. No. No no no no. Nononononononono! Panic seized him, vision blurring at the thought of him with _her._ There was no way, absolutely no way in hell, that she could be his mate. The memory of that night burned in his veins, tattooed to the back of his eyes, and lived through his touch. Fingers mapped a distinctly adult, womanly form, not that of some adolescent teenager!

Some lines were not meant to be crossed, and Severus prided himself on keeping to those boundaries. Students were not to be touched. Period. Not in anger, not in hatred, and, perhaps especially, not in lust. Not six weeks ago, his supposed mate sat in his class, subdued in maturity her younger self could never manage, acing his brutal exam before fighting for her life as he waltzed over to kill the Headmaster.

Shame, guilt, and self-loathing flared strongly within his breast. Even the elated contentment of his inner God couldn't dampen the torrent of dark thoughts. What pleasure was there in this? What had he done to deserve such a mate? Someone he couldn't think of as anything but an irritating child? Drowning in despair, Severus flopped to his side, clutching one pillow to his chest. His soul mate, personal Goddess, and other half by the most ancient and sacred of magics turned out to be none other than _Hermione_ bloody _Granger_.

"For fucks sake," he growled, equal parts exasperated, resigned, and enraged, into the slowly lightening room.

* * *

 **August 1997**

The last days of July passed in a state of constant drunken rebellion. A large part of him took to disparaging the girl who became the bane of his existence. It was just his luck that the one truly inspirational, awe inspiring moment of his life since Lily had to be tainted. The fact that the _girl_ , his mind spat each time he referred to her, happened to be Potter's little hanger-on did not help.

The only relief, Severus found, was his return to his cottage the night before. For whatever reason, the Dark Lord deeply respected his potion masters' devotion to the ancient ways. Resentment and relief warred with protective concern, feet wandering around the grounds during the day. He knew the Weasley family planned their son's wedding for that day, which meant his _lovely_ and _wonderful_ mate couldn't attend. At the same time, the Dark Lord saw fit to make him aware to the fact the Ministry would fall, and to expect an invitation to return to Hogwarts as its new Headmaster come fall term on Monday when he returned from holiday.

Which meant, as nervous knots formed in his stomach, that they were all in trouble. This lead to the fact that, despite his desires not to, he cared. He didn't _want_ to be worried about what would happen at the Burrow that evening. He didn't _want_ to need to know if a certain bushy haired teenager made it out of there safe. Severus especially despised the fact that, should she fall now or in the future, his God would forfeit his life as Severus pined away for her. A low growl ripped out his throat as he turned to find a familiar couple.

"Why so distraught, my friend," the man asked, a genial, paternal smile upon his face. "Is it about your mate?"

"I have no such person," Severus just kept the hostility out of his voice. "I know not what you speak of."

"Of course you do, dearie," the woman spoke up. "Quite the kind young lady. Humored us with our gardening talk for almost two hours, the dear."

The dark wizard blinked in surprise and alarm.

"Quite interested in what your lot calls herbology, I believe," the man nodded. "Is she somewhere nearby? She made some rather interesting insights into some of our more normal plants. I'm sure she would love to hear the results."

"Pardon, but-" he attempted to speak, incredulous bordering on alarm.

"You don't have a mate?" the woman raised a sardonic, silver peppered brow. "The mark is upon you. There is no hiding it from others the God and Goddess blessed. We've been at this longer than you've been alive, young man. I see you were not pleased with Their selection. And what of she?"

"I couldn't-" a thoroughly wrong-footed Severus babbled, bright spots of color dotting his cheekbones.

"He left," the man chuckled, exasperated and bemused. "Honestly, friend, how did you figure it out, if you did not actually see her?"

"If you must know," his usually silky voice ground out. "We are acquaintances of a nature and I felt the awareness during an altercation."

"And she said nothing?" the old woman inquired.

"Neither of us had the chance," he hedged.

"To say anything to your other half?" she asked once more, amused, sardonic brow raised.

"It was rather heated," he huffed, crossing his arms defensively. "And we were on opposing sides."

"And yet, she displeases you," the man spoke, eyes piercing his very soul. "Why?"

"She is -should be- a student of mine," the reply. "An older, more mature student, but a pupil, all the same, one I did not particularly like. In addition, it is morally wrong to _be_ with her, as it were. Even if I were not old enough to be her father."

"Perhaps," the woman murmured, watching Severus with wizened eyes, "You have simply not given magic enough credit. It makes no mistakes, is infallible, and matches to our best interests. Give this student of your's a chance. She just may surprise you yet." With an impish smile, she continued, "And it is a well known fact that we women mature far faster than boys. It may just be that she needs a man in her life. Don't count her out just yet."

With an almost audible gulp, Severus quickly steered the conversation to safer waters, all the while dread built within his gut. He waited for evening to turn to night, lithe form leaning against his boulder at the edge. Just as Apollo took the sun beneath the trees, a spike of panic shot through him. For an hour or so after the rites were chanted, he felt nothing else. Eyes never truly saw colors, hears deafened towards the jubilant cries of revelers, and mind far north. For the first time ever, Severus did not enjoy a festival.

For all of their faults, Severus still didn't want anyone to _die._ Ice flooded his veins at the thought of her being captured. The Dark Lord's wrath barely held a candle to what Bellatrix and Lucius would do to the girl, if captured, and Merlin help him if Dolohov got a hand on her. The more he denied caring for the girl, the more he worried for her. As he sat upon his boulder, Severus buried his face in his hands and thought. Hours passed in silent contemplation, the power of the festival, grounding and calming.

Give her a chance, the woman had said. She may surprise you. Yet, how could he do just that? His God wanted to do more than just give her a chance; wanted to find her, hide her, and hold her tight. The practical voice still put up every reason this would _not_ work. Age, differences in station, personality, house, and emotional availability worked against them, not to mention the political climate; why should she even trust him? His pouty, surly, pessimistic voice added that she wouldn't want him anyways, not someone so young and free, who held more potential than any other student he taught.

Yet, as the moon set, and predawn darkness covered the clearing in its loving embrace, a small, persistent part of him kept on with one single mantra: _magic made her your's._ A single, damning fact that threw everything else out the window. Every objection fell to the soft, steady, strong insistence. Thoroughly confused and tired, Severus made his way to his cottage and thought. A large part of his psyche continued to strain and flail at the idea, and yet…

He sighed and opened the bold, blue door.

oOo oOo oOo

The staff meeting went just as planned. Severus left the siblings at their quarters before sweeping up to his office, thoughts of the gathering fresh. His fellow educators appeared suitably enraged. Sharp barbs and harsh observations mixed with the subject at hand. By the end, when the Carrows were as distracted as first years on the first warm, spring day, critical, useful information passed from him to the rest of the staff. Confused angry and bewildered resentment bloomed upon their faces, as if staring at his rather homely face would give them all their answers. Alas, Severus did all he could.

A final set of stairs swung into place just as he stepped upon the landing, distracted musing never once allowing him to notice. Portraits followed him, and even the ghosts seemed to be more respectful than not. By the time the dark man entered the headmaster's tower, gargoyle jumping aside in deference, his mind went back to its favorite topic: his mate, Hermione Granger. If she were smart, and Severus knew the answer to that, the girl would make sure that neither she nor her dunderheaded friends returned to the school the next week.

A familiar combination of relief, anxiety, and irritation swept through his chest. Perhaps, he conceded, he judged her too early and far too harshly. Fingers rubbed the bridge of his prominent nose, body slumping into the large chair behind the solid desk. A tired groan filled the air, hands rubbing his face.

"I must say, Severus," a cheerful, beguiling tenor spoke up, "You appear quite distraught."

He snorted.

"Really, dear boy, is everything alright?" Albus inquired, eyes sparkling within his gilded frame.

"You tell me, Albus," the wry response as the man behind the desk pulled himself up and together. "I just had a two hour meeting with a staff full of powerful wizards who wish to dismember and disembowel me, cursing so loudly, they might as well have said it aloud. This, on top of the fact that I must babysit two of the most deranged members of _his_ ranks, while trying to keep the students safe. I dare say, everything is decidedly _not_ alright."

"Besides all of that," the oil portrait dismissively waved a painted hand. "You look as if something important is weighing on your mind."

"We must have different views on the matter," growled the man.

"Do try not to be so trying, Severus," blue eyes twinkled and voice tutted.

"Trying? This whole situation is _trying_ , old man," he exclaimed, glaring his predecessor.

"Now, now, it just looks like you have quite a bit on your mind," he hummed. "I just thought you'd like someone to talk to."

"And that person would be you, because?" A black brow rose in question. Silence. "Exactly. If I wish to share with you what troubles me, I will do is at the time of my choosing. Until then, kindly keep out of my business. Goddamned nosy Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath.

Phineas Nigellus Black chortled in agreement, watching the dark man behind the desk with barely restrained interest. Severus held an affection for the portrait, having a copy in his Head of Slytherin chambers. Having a fellow Slytherin in the room with him, even if only made up of linseed oil, pigment, and magic, comforted the potions master.

"Any news, Phineas?" he asked after taking a moment to collect himself.

"The brats are still in my ancestral home," the distinct, aristocratic drawl answered, bored and not afraid to let others know. "The Weasley boy continues to sulk and skulks about the house like the brainless twit he is," Severus snorted in answer, easily able to picture the boy lazing idle somewhere. "The Potter brat is marginally better, though only just. He spends his time with the girl in the library, helping her with some research. This, if you could imagine, makes the nuisance pout more so than before.

"The girl though," a thoughtful lilt continued, drawing Severus' attention. "I have found myself to be quite intrigued with her. She obviously knows the old ways," an approving flint passed in the man's eyes, "renewed the elf bonds to the family in a most adequate fashion. She is the one who works the most of the three, always researching or writing, and, if not, cleaning. Granted, now that the elf's bonds are reinforced, he is working quite industriously."

A moment passed as the two Slytherins nodded. They would talk later, somewhere Albus could not listen and begin to decode their conversation. Giving the late Headmaster a sarcastic glance, work consumed him whole for several hours. Elves delivered tea and food, barely touched and unacknowledged by the new Headmaster as a quill scratched upon pieces of parchment.

Pale moonlight streamed into the room before Severus set off towards the dungeons. Feet guided him towards his familiar, highly warded entrance. With ease born of many years practice, an archway shimmered into being, answering to the runes etched into the air and in his mind. Fire erupted at the flick of the wrist, tea zooming to the coffee table, and, with a great sigh, Severus settled in for the night. Within a quarter hour, the other Slytherin Headmaster slid into his portrait above the flickering hearth. Some minutes passed before the painting spoke.

"I know it no use to ask you to tell me how you truly fare, Severus," the regal man stated.

"And yet, I feel you to be on the edge of doing just that," the man retorted with a wry smirk.

"Not quite," he frowned. "Though there is something quite different about you since you've returned. And not," he continued loudly to interrupt the dark man below, "in the sense of attitude. More of an aura change, if you will. Something happened."

A long, low breath blew out of Severus' lungs.

"I take that as a yes," brows contracted. "You forget, quite often, that I practiced the Old Ways just as devoutly as you. I cannot say I blame you. The way that traditional and purebloods conduct themselves is no better than barbaric. They have forgotten what it truly means to be magical, that it is not just a convenient source of power. Uncouth, the whole lot."

"And your rants about blood traitors and mudbloods were to what end?" Severus raised a single brow.

"To see who could pick out the truth in what I said, and who I could confuse and misdirect," smirked Phineas. "Most think me nothing but another bigoted Black. Hah! I do not despise muggles and muggleborns simply because of their birth. The muggles who kept the Old Ways loyally are perhaps the most inspirational, as they do not have the gift of magic to remind them of the truth daily as we do. No, I abhor those who forgot their way. The muggles who instigated the witch hunts, for example, and the witches and wizards who have abandoned true magic to lead selfish, easy lives.

"And don't get me started on this Dark Lord fellow of your's," dark eyes bored into Severus. "Acts no better than a common brute, killing, pillaging, and such crude blackmail to get what he wants. No finesse at all, Severus. Dragging the good name of Slytherin in the dirt, that one is."

"You will find no quarrel with me on that point," the younger man chuckled, watching the rant with bemused, dark eyes.

"Earlier, I wanted to mention something," Black mused after a moment. "Without Albus' interference, of course."

"And I thank you for your discretion," Raven hair swung with a nod.

"The girl, Miss Granger," the portrait continued, Severus noting the civility with surprise. "Her knowledge of the ancient rites and rituals is quite impressive. I admit, happily so, to being wrong about her. She acknowledges and keeps with the Old Ways, you know. It's how they were able to care for the elf in the first place. I figured you did not want Albus privy to these observations as his opinions on the topic are well known."

Dark eyes rolled to the ceiling. Did he know about the old man's reluctance and wariness when it came to the Old Ways. Never experience a festival, nor the raw magic rushing through his core, Albus couldn't understand how his two trusted lieutenants ardently followed what he considered to be something bordering on dark magic. The idea of not truly being in control of his magic scared the previous headmaster witless, and led to many of his dubious choices and rather power mad political arrangements. Albus, for all he was, knew Miss Granger to be powerful, and seeing a third 'fall prey' to the lures of the Old Ways would cause the old fool to meddle, even in a frame.

"She is a true ley born, you know," Phineas continued. "Often snorts and coughs to cover up laughter when I go to insult the boys. Snappy with her ripostes, as well. I can feel her walk past my frame, even when I'm not there. There is only one other who held such power."

He scowled at the man. Of course, Severus knew he was magically powerful. His parents conceived him at the festival grounds the night after a celebration. By some unfortunate machinations of fate, Severus came to be. An audible click echoed through his mind as the information sunk into place. What were the chances that they both possessed such raw power? Lips thinned into a tight frown as thoughts chased around his mind. _Maybe_ , that soft, slowly growing part of him whispered, _just maybe, we truly are compatible. Perhaps I should give her a chance._ The current majority smashed down those thoughts, vicious and quick. A soft cough recalled Severus to the moment, only to see the impassive Slytherin staring down at him.

"Something rather large happened over the summer," stated the former headmaster, keen eyes devouring the scene in front of him.

"And what makes you say that?" Severus snapped.

"While anger and denial are tried and true Slytherin tactics of avoidance and evasion, they will not work with me," the haughty portrait huffed. "Much as they fail rather spectacularly with you."

"Fine. Something happened," the answering growl.

"And it is what is weighing on you, more so than the rest of this," a painted hand waved back and forth.

"Yes, well, it so happens one can prepare themselves for this circumstance," Severus grumbled, slumping into the chair.

"But not for the event that passed this summer," Phineas retorted.

"As it so happens, no," Severus sniped, arms crossed in front of him. "If that is all?"

"Yes, yes, I'll let you get some rest," sighed the other man, exasperated and bemused. "And I will do my best to keep an eye and ear out on your _favorite_ miscreants."

Severus muttered under his breath about nosy Slytherins all the way back to his bedroom. Only then, he allowed himself to panic. Somehow, Phineas had some sort of suspicion. Slytherins rarely spoke to one another in plain terms, not after their first few years for the most part. Never once did they mention the specific event, or any particular person. Yet, the dread of absolute certainty swirled in his stomach. The damned portrait deduced _exactly_ what happened. He groaned into the soft pillow, wishing for the day to end.


	9. Any Moment

**September 1997**

The start of term came, as it always did. An hour earlier than normal, a show of power by the Dark Lord, the sounds of students returning wafted into the entrance hall. He expected them to be quiet, subdued, even wary, yet, for the most part, they weren't. At least, Severus amended, seeing the flickering eyes and tense posture of many of the older students, they weren't displaying their unease. Face impassive, the man marveled at the inherent resiliency of students. They milled about their tables, perhaps with more trepidation as they noticed the obvious gaps, talking and laughing as if nothing were wrong.

Which ended far too quickly. An instant, terrified hush petrified the crowd of students in front of him. Flinty, dark eyes observed the various expressions before him, ranging from hatred and bald fear to smug satisfaction and triumph. No one moved, no one talked, the hall fell just as silent as it was before the children set foot within the hallowed walls. Not until that moment did Severus realize how much he treasured the often irritating noise, how hearing the snickers and laughter of children being innocent gave him peace. He swallowed his emotions, and spoke.

"Before the Sorting begins, there are some points I wish to address," his silky baritone resonated in the perfectly quiet hall. "I will warn you of this once. I am not Albus Dumbledore." _That elicited some response_ , he sneered to himself, tramping down on his self loathing. "As all of you should know by this time, I am not kind, nor am I forgiving. I will not listen to your excuses, nor will I make any exceptions. There is a list of rules upon each pillow. You will do well to read it, and adhere to the directions. Failure to do so would be unwise. "

A nod cued Minerva, who huffed down the aisle to open the doors for the new first years. In came the smallest group of new students Severus ever saw. No one saw the pity, the fear, the absolute despair roiling around his stomach. Even as the meal went on, students only murmured back and forth, as if earning his ire would equate to some unimaginable punishment. _The worst part,_ he bitterly thought, _is that they're right._ As students finished, and the younger years appeared to be in a post food daze, Severus stood once more.

"Welcome to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am your new Headmaster, Professor Severus Snape," a polite smattering of applause came from the Slytherin table, while the rest just stared in silence. "You may address me as Headmaster or Professor. This year, we will be implementing several changes. First, we have Amycus and Alecto Carrow. They will be our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and Muggle Studies professor respectively."

Another, unsure smattering of congratulations came from the Slytherins, most shocked and afraid of the addition. Severus didn't blame them.

"They are to be in charge of discipline this year," continued the dark wizard, eyes boring into his students, pleading they understand to _stay out of trouble._ "And will be meting out punishments. In addition, there shall be no quidditch this year."

Now, that, got a round of grumbles and alarmed whispers. From there, he outlined, in brief, salient points, the expectations of the year. By the time he finished, and the students left for the night, he sat alone, in the high chair, wondering just what he had gotten himself into this time. A soft curse brought him to his feet and he left.

oOo oOo oOo

Several days later, just as Albus slipped from his portrait to go visit Sir Matthius the Mad, Phineas slipped into his portrait. After their customary greeting and rather biting commentary at the incompetence of his newest professors, the man regarded Severus with great thought. Neither broached the subject of that late August talk, and he could not be more glad for it. Running a school, much to his chagrin, required far more paperwork than he wished.

Just as he thought the other Slytherin had left once more, he heard, "You know, they are planning something."

"Oh?" the succinct answer.

"Yes," sneered Phineas. "Just this morning, Miss Granger came by and promptly apologized, but said that I couldn't be hearing their plans, just in case. Pale and exhausted, that one is," a brief glimpse of worry flashed across his painted eyes. "Cast some spell that made it so no portrait in the house could see or hear what they were planning. The only thing I know is when she passes me. It is rather disconcerting."

"What? The blindness, or the fact they are planning?" Severus snorted.

"Both, quite frankly," he smirked in response. "Though, Severus, if I may talk of a rather delicate subject…"

"What?" A drawn, wary response answered, as dark eyes regarded the portrait with an intense look.

"It is none of my business, of course, but she truly does not look well," Phineas frowned. "Muggle raised though she is, the girl knows her magic. Being drained or ill would be most disadvantageous at such a junction."

"And I would care why, exactly?" Snapped the younger man, black robes swirling.

"Because their health is imperative to your mission, is it not?" the painting raised a sardonic brow.

"He does have a point, Severus," Albus hummed as he stepped into his own frame. "Do keep an eye on them, Phineas. Report to me if they get any more ill, we cannot afford disease at such a time."

Severus scoffed at the blase, high handed response. If the portraits were to report to anyone, it would be _him,_ the current headmaster. Instead, content with the knowledge provided by Phineas, he shook his head and resumed his work, mind racing. Nothing _good_ ever came from the Golden Trio planning something. Granted, when Miss Granger took to a plan, and the brats she called friends actually _followed_ said plan instead of running off half cocked, it tended to go smoothly. The problem resided in the fact that, more often than not, the two hotheads rushed into things, allowing for only half a plan, and ended up getting everyone injured.

A growl threatened to break free at the thought of _her_ getting injured because of them. Not for the first time, Severus cursed the overly secretive nature of his mentor. He didn't know how to help the stumbling, fumbling trio of students in his position. Gods, he lost his only form of contact with them. It became rather challenging to pass on information to people who would kill him on sight.

To top off this rather horrible situation, he still worried about the girl, mostly against his will. Thoughts of her invaded his mind at all hours of the day, a distraction he could not afford. Almost every hour, the pessimistic side ran through every reason a relationship would never work, not now, nor later. In response, the soft and steady side, ever growing, presented undeniable facts. Ancient Magic, at the most sacred of ritual sites, matched them. They were both ley born, most likely from areas with a high concentration of ley lines. Their magic matched, and, if he were to let himself be somewhat fair, they were both of an academic, studious sort.

These thoughts swirled through his mind, occupying him as hands finished the rest of the tedious paperwork, a veritable mountain of disciplinary forms.

oOo oOo oOo

After a particularly grueling day of supplicating and manipulating a week or so later, Severus stared into the fire. Fire whisky and merry crackling soothed his frazzled nerves until he dozed. Spice, fire, and herbs swirled in the air, mixed with an addictive combination of lavender and something exotic he could not place. Distant laughter and music fluttered upon the balmy breeze. Arms squeezed a warm, firm form.

Panic died before it begun. No matter how much he longed to talk, to move, to control his own damn body, the dream moved on. Eyes remained firmly shut as he felt his God direct his hands. Fingers skimmed up and down in a soothing and hypnotic fashion. It took several passes for Severus to pick up on what made his God purr. He sat within his own mind, shocked at the subtle roundness. Magic knew his reluctance to the match, and now used his greatest secret to cajole him.

Severus tried to be upset, angry, panicked, but the sheer vulnerability he heard in her voice paused him. She asked if this was okay, if he wanted this, and Merlin knew he did. Relief washed over the pair in waves, as a shocked surprise suffused his conscious self. While his God reassured her with gentle words and soft caresses, his mind flew to the past, reevaluating and analyzing.

Behavior patterns and actions cast new shadows, new light illuminating actions and words. His favorite theory for the girl had always been that she possessed great self assurance of her intellect. Merlin knew her to be the smartest student he ever taught, and most of the professors let her know it, showering praise left and right. Yet, he never noticed how lonely her life had been. Outside of the two dunderheads, and a couple others on occasion, the wo- girl in his arms rarely talked to anyone.

While her classmates were off experiencing all sorts of adolescent firsts, including her two Gryffindor bodyguards, she sat in the library, reading dusty tomes. Never once, to his knowledge, did anyone seek her for anything other than information or academic assistance. He caught her once telling off some fangirl of Potter's, how she didn't care who she was, and what she had on her, she would never give the girl an introduction to the Boy Who Lived. He hid for that one, mildly impressed by her loyalty and cunning in dissuading the girl after the aforementioned declaration.

In fact, the one time the - _sod it_ \- woman in his arms attended any sort of event, the boys tried to take advantage of her, and the girls insulted her. Afterwards, the castle settled back into the pretense that it never happened. Which left her much more like Cinderella than anyone else. To add to that, the Weasley boy did no favors, dating a bully and rubbing it in her face for the majority of last year.

Protectiveness bubbled up, unbidden. He didn't _want_ to empathize. Yet, looking back over her six years at Hogwarts, how could he not? If it weren't for the two boys who, despite everything, knew how to get their heads out of the asses long enough to apologize and stick with her, where would she be? She reminded him far too much of himself. How did everyone miss on her? Of course, pubescent boys only see the shortest skirt and the tightest shirt.

A soft, tinkling voice broke his concentration, bringing his mind to this strange dreamscape. Resolute words pierced his heart, sure that the Goddess knew _exactly_ his deepest, darkest, most held secret, and he reveled in it. A weight seemed to be lifted, and, for that moment, the thought of _anyone_ wanting him around long enough to give him a family choked him up. As they laid back, sweet breezes and warmth lulling him to sleep, Severus allowed his mind to wander, thanking the dream for at least giving him the facsimile of a pregnant wife who loved him, and no one else.

oOo oOo oOo

The Autumnal Equinox came, and so Severus went to his cottage in the woods. Setting Filius and Septima as the 'responsible adults' to watch over the Carrows, he left the school for the evening with some sort of home of a decent return. Dusk colored the clearing, as people chattered over the news. He briefly spoke with the couple from before, them urging him to accept her, and him just feeling wrong-footed the whole time.

A small part of him wished that she would come to this gathering, smaller than the summer holidays. Yet, the rational and protective personas were glad. Wandering all of the British Isles was not a good idea when the Ministry wanted you dead, and he could not bring himself to deny the sigh of relief when he knew her to be safe. He spend the night in contemplative silence atop his boulder, legs crossed, arms propped on knees.

Morning dawned, bright and crisp, yet never once did he move. Even with magic to ground him, Severus found his thoughts an absolute mess, almost as untamable as the curly frizz upon his mate's head. With a resigned sigh, he turned towards the tucked away cottage, hoping to gain some clarity soon.

oOo oOo oOo

Days passed in similar manners. More often than not, he'd remember bits and pieces of dreams. Discomforting realizations started to form in his mind about Miss Granger. How truly insecure and afraid she felt. That she never felt pretty or wanted before. That, what she wanted above everything else, was someone to love her and only her. Every day, he woke up to the pain of his heartstrings being played like a fiddle. In the fog of barely-awareness, his mind often called out, trying to answer such a pure desire.

Eyes blinked sleep from them, and, moments later, the loud, if shrinking part, would shove all such sentiments into a box and go about his day. Phineas went as far as to say that she added another enchantment to his frame, unsure as to what it could be, though he still couldn't see or hear. Severus reasoned that knowing they still resided in Grimauld to be a positive.

Mid September, a sudden spike of anxiety shot through his system. Fingers and limbs froze, unable to move as his body itched to go forth and do something. Shaking off the perturbing sensations, the headmaster turned towards the predecessors behind him and called for Phineas. Seeing the Black ancestor there, Severus took a deep breath.

"Are they-?" he began only to be cut off.

"She walked past me not a quarter hour ago," the prompt answer. "I assume they are executing whatever plan they concocted. Yes, I will update you when I can."

"And what plan is this, my dear Phineas," Albus tittered after watching the tense exchange.

"Why, Albus, I thought you knew," the other man sneered. "Your little favorites are off doing some undoubtedly dangerous and _noble_ act. Should they fall, due to a lack of proper preparation, you cannot blame us Slytherins. For once, _we_ were doing exactly as _you_ ordered us."

"I have complete faith that what they are doing is absolutely necessary, and that they will succeed," replied Dumbledore in his sanguine, tranquil tones, trying to settle ruffled scales.

"Yes, and that attitude is exactly what killed my descendent. No matter our political differences, he was still the last of my line," Phineas' icy reply sounded, soft and lethal. "I take great offense at your lackadaisical handling, Dumbledore."

"I daresay you do, Phineas," demurred the other man, "and I cannot fault you for your justified anger and anguish."

The Slytherin headmasters, past and present, ignored the flamboyant Gryffindor, especially when he started the wheedle information out of his previous spy. Severus snorted, saying he knew nothing. Almost an hour and a half later, as he packed up to go to lunch in the Great Hall, did the unrelenting tightness in his chest ease. Relief lifted the weight of worry from him, just knowing her to be safe.

oOo oOo oOo

 **Break In at the Ministry of Magic! Undesirable number 1 and 3 spotted! Where is number 2?** The headline stared him in the face. A smug smirk pulled at Minerva's lips, Severus noted. She knew _something_ , and the fact that his God remained quiet meant her to be safe. _So this is their great plan,_ seething words flared through his mind, _sneak into the ministry for some unknown reason and almost get caught at it!_

His mark burned the night before, however, just as he gathered his things, an owl carried a message telling him to stay put. A small frown tugged at his lips, but Severus knew better than to disobey a direct order. Instead, he continued on the parchment mountain on his desk. Now, he could see why. With no knowledge pertaining to the troublesome three, his presence was better left at the school to keep the discipline. Black billowed behind his long, graceful steps up towards his office.

"Is this the _noble_ and necessarily dangerous task you set your little cubs to do?" he growled, levitating the paper in front of the portrait for good measure. "Wouldn't all of this have been easier if they had someone to contact to give pertinent information?"

"We will not discuss this issue anymore, Severus," the dodding persona gone, left with only steel and authority. "You cannot have any contact with them. They cannot know. No one can."

"And if someone figures it out?" He growled. "Or if these imbellic children get themselves killed? What happens, then Albus?"

"It is your job to make so no one figures it out," frowned the man in the frame, blue eyes hard. "As for the later, I have complete faith they will live."

"That is no plan," an answering snarl. "If they die, we have as good as lost ourselves."

"You know my answer to all of this," Albus stated, serious and sure. "And you will abide by it if you wish to see Lily's son through this. To earn her forgiveness."

At that moment, the last string snapped, a loud twang echoed in his mind. Always about Potter. About his guilt for Lily. How he could never repay her, leading him with a carrot. Yet, some part of his knew he no longer did this for her. Perhaps at first, all those years ago, but even now, the task of watching over the children became an obligation. He fought the Dark Lord, not for some woman who soundly rejected him, but because it was the right thing to do.

 _In fact,_ the soft, treacherous part of him interjected, _there is only one woman I would be doing any of this for, and you're damned lucky she's on your side._ The rest of him reeled, insisting on the principal of the matter; torture, murder, and rape were wrong, as was blind discrimination and hatred. Yet, he knew, deep down, that she truly did matter, whether he wanted her to or not. _And clearly, it does not,_ he snorted.

"As you say," the neutral response.

oOo oOo oOo

Towards the end of the month, a crate floated in front of the dark wizard at some ungodly hour. Unable to sleep, creating potions soothed him where alcohol and the written word could not. Unlike most students' ideas of him, Severus did have a heart and a soul, along with a bloody loud conscious. Keeping the matron well stocked calmed his nerves and made him feel more in control, like there was something he could do.

He rounded a back passage that would open near the supply closet and saw the warm glow of candlelight flicker under the exit. Soft voices flitted through.

"Are you sure?" the first voice, curious yet cautious.

"Absolutely! It's all set, Poppy," a Scottish lilt answered. "Even with the paperwork signed and filed, it's a bit surreal. And think, the two of them there. I originally wanted to set them up in the cottage, but this is much better, do not you think?"

"I think," the careful tones of the matron hummed. "That it will be just what is needed. Did you-?"

"Yes, and you will-?"

"Naturally, I would trust no other," busted the Hufflepuff busy-body.

"Well, enough about this for now," Minerva sighed, the sound of china tinkling entering the passageway, "I must return to my office, and maybe do a few rounds."

Farewells flew by and, within a quarter hour, the infirmary fell silent and still. A brow rose in contemplation of the conversation, rather sly and cryptic if he were to say so himself. Thoughts hummed through his mind, puzzling out the newest mystery in his domain.

* * *

 **October 1997**

Severus knew Minerva slipped away the first weekend of October. To what end, he didn't know, nor did he care. As long as she kept up the pretense of teaching at the school, and following his demands, he could care less. The Carrows decided to test their limits with him, ending with more torturing of all three of them; the siblings for disobeying the Dark Lord's directives, and Severus for allowing them too much leash. He practically snorted, wanting to say how he had repeatedly and strenuously advised them to listen to him. Did it work? Hell no. Did that stop the Dark Lord from punishing them all? Absolutely not.

After the break in at the Ministry, the snake faced overlord appeared more paranoid than usual, suspicious of every shadow and every sound. He checked, in triplicate, each item of information brought forward. Severus took note, wondering just what could have made him more neurotic than normal. However, he valued his hide and life far more than a sated curiosity, thus leaving each time with some vague sense of accomplishment.

Around this time, other patterns appeared. The other, tenured professors, Hooch and Hagrid included, as well as Poppy Pomfrey, all appeared just as icy as glaciers. Yet, nothing ever went _wrong_ with them. Oh, they gave as good as they got when they could do so safely, behind closed doors and away from prying ears and eyes. Often times, Minerva and Filius thought of inventive ways for the sheer joy of irritating him. However, they were all superficial. Singing suites of armor, color changing certain banners, the occasional personal storm cloud. All equally innocuous, and ridiculously frustrating to put up with, but no worse than Peeves.

Indeed, he noticed how the slips on his desk, typically the size of the alps, sometimes even close to the topography when he fell behind, were of normal, everyday occurrences, things that, if they were allowed, no one would bring to the headmaster. Their recommended punishments were reasonable, thus speeding the process along. What stalled his little system ended up being the Terror Twins, and their ideas for 'rightful' disciplinary action. The more repeat offenders, Longbottom, the youngest Weasley, and surprisingly Luna Lovegood, he was unable to shield completely, yet, he tried even for them.

One evening, as he stalked through the castle after dropping over another covert batch of potions for Poppy, he heard a clattering up ahead. Curious, legs swiftly and silently carried him towards the staircase and around the bend. A swish and he stood, disillusioned, as he watched the new troublesome trio attempt to get into his office.

"Darkness shall rise," Ginevera muttered.

"That's would be a ridiculous password," Lovegood remarked, unperturbed and dreamy as always. "He is a potions master, why not try some reagent?"

"Gryffindors suck," the redhead tried again.

"Seriously? He's the headmaster," Longbottom sighed.

"Okay, okay, how about Slytherins Rule," and light blue eyes watched the gargoyle with an intent stare.

"Nightshade," the boy tried, taking the Lovegood girl's advice. "Aconite? Belladonna? Snodgrass? Knotgrass? Lacewing Flies?"

"You're rather terrible at this, Neville," the blonde giggled at the blushing Gryffindor boy.

"You said try potions ingredients," he mumbled, looking away.

"We can't just give up, though," Ginevra hissed. "Harry _needs_ it. It was left in the Headmaster's will for him!"

 _Now,_ that _was an interesting tidbit,_ Severus mentally filed away, curious brow rising as he wondered just what boy wonder needed from his office.

"That just means we have to keep on trying," Longbottom frowned in concentration as his thoughtful brown eyes gazed at the gargoyle. "Could you let us in, please? It's very important."

The stone didn't so much as blink.

"Dragon's Blood," Lovegood hummed into the silence.

Taking pity on them, and secretly worried that the Carrows would appear out of nowhere and force a true punishment on them, Severus mentally drew the rune and gave the gargoyle permission to allow the students up. Triumphant grins flashed between the small group of rebels as they clamored up the stairs and opened the now barely guarded door. He snorted at their soft cries of success and followed a moment later, thanking the guardian of the door.

"As if I'd leave my office this open and defenseless," he snorted on the landing as he listened to the children root around his office.

"Ah ha! I found it," Ginevera stage whispered, "Neville, come and help me, I can't lift it right."

Shuffling and grunting filled the air as the students attempted to lift and carry the goblin made blade. Shoulders shook, straightening the teaching robes, and a sigh whooshed from his lungs. Taking a deep breath, he flung the door open with a loud slam, shocking and startling the three miscreants into still silence. A single, black brow rose, asking a silent question.

If the moment were not so grave, nor the circumstance so delicate, Severus would have snorted in amusement before verbally thrashing the interlopers. Ginevra stood upon Lovegood's back, holding one part of the glass display case, while Longbottom stood on the other side, attempting to not drop onto the chair he stood, rather precariously, teetering back and forth in haphazard fashion. Eyes wide, mouths gaping, the two Gryffindors stared, dumbfounded, at him. Meanwhile, Lovegood turned her head and gave a dreamy wave of the fingers. Severus mentally palmed his head in exasperation.

The sword of Gryffindor twinkled behind the partially removed display case. A flick of his wand saw the glass securely around the silver artifact and the rest of his room righted. He motioned, imperious and expectant, to the students, whom all seated themselves in front of his desk. A look of mutinous rage sneered from the Gryffindors, while Lovegood, ever the free spirit, gave him a dreamy smile.

"And what, may I ask, brings you to my office well past curfew and caused you to pilfer it?" His low, silky voice asked in a cold tone.

"We were just trying to get the Sword of Gryffindor, Professor," the Ravenclaw answered with her typical aplomb.

"Luna!" her companions chorused.

"Yes, Miss Lovegood, I surmised as much myself," he dryly retorted, feeling a migraine coming on.

"Well, you see, Professor," the blonde continued past the groans of her mischievous counterparts, "Ginny misses Harry and thinks that if she were to help him along, he'd be back with her sooner, so they can continue to sneak snogs all over the school," the redhead Gryffindor flushed a bright pink much to Severus' hidden amusement. "And Neville is trying to impress someone, though I'm not sure who." The boy hid his face in his hands.

"I just went along because they asked me. Though, really, sir, I have no idea how they think they'll get it to Harry. The plan was rather ill conceived and I told them as much. The wacklespurts were everywhere while we planned, you see. They are very bad. Now, if there were some nargles, then maybe we'd have a chance. Obviously, the wacklesprouts do not lie."

Severus counted to ten and prayed to the Gods, before counting to ten again. Merlin give him strength, he turned to face the quietly bickering trio in front of him. If he were an emotional man, the result of this situation was two fold; either laugh or cry. As he was not prone to fits of emotion, he simply raised a brow, breathed normally and glared at the students before him. The two lion cubs flinched at the sight, while the Ravenclaw watched with detached bemusement.

"Be that as it may, Miss Lovegood, you and your compatriots attempted to steal from my office, and that is an offense I do not take lightly," he ground. "Detention, for the next week, every night, with Professor Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Do. I . Make. Myself. Clear?"

Pinched glares from the Gryffindors were offset by the cheerful "Yessir!" of their Ravenclaw friend. He pinched the bridge of his nose and stood, ushering the trio from his office before escorting them to their common rooms. All the while, Ginevera and Longbottom shot him dirty looks and whispered nasty things under their breath. Lovegood bounced behind the pair, fay touched as always, looking and conversing with several portraits along the way.

As they rounded back the corridor from Gryffindor Tower, the blonde Ravenclaw walked next to him, oblivious as always. In previous years, where he would escort her without punishment to the Ravenclaw common room, they would make small talk. One bullied child to another, though most would never know it. He would ask if she found all her shoes yet, and she would remark one way or another. This lead to a few suggested hiding spots Avery and Mulciber used before figuring out the little half blood could defend himself.

Yet, he could not even do so much as that. They walked up one of the moving staircases without breaking step.

"In case you were curious, Professor," the girl's whimsical voice hummed. "I am not missing trainers this year, which is a relief. Only Charlotte O'harea has hidden my robes around the common room, and even that wasn't too bad. I found them all within a week. Since, no one's touched my things. It's been a pleasant experience to have all of them together and not have to go hunting around for socks this term."

"I see," his noncommittal answer.

She chattered away about auras and creatures, filling the minutes of silence with her oddly musical voice, like wind chimes in the breeze. Only at the bronze knocker did the girl end her odd monologue and turned towards him. Blue eyes pierced him, and, even with his occlumency walls up, felt as if his soul laid bare to this slip of a child. A moment passed before a smile, appreciative in her dreamy fashion, bloomed on her face.

"Thank you, Professor," she went to turn.

"Pardon?" He asked despite himself.

"Thank you, for all you have done," the blonde sixth year smiled at him once more. "I know it must be difficult for you, but, considering, this year has been tolerable thus far. It could be a lot worse."

"I would say you're welcome," Severus dryly retorted, hiding his confusion, "but I know not what you speak of. Get inside your tower, Miss Lovegood. You have detention for the next week."

"Of course, sir," chirped the girl, who turned, and, with a riddle ("You can see me in water, but I never get wet. What am I?" "A reflection.") left Severus in the hall alone.

A pensive furrow of the brow reflected the state of mind left by the little chat with Lovegood. Severus always knew her to be fay born, much like her father's family's reported ancestry. This gave her a unique insight to life, the world, and alliances. He shrugged off all thoughts as he heard a heavy scrape by his office. He growled, realizing his mistake far too late, hoping for the best. If the boy really did need that sword…

"Hello, Severus," Amycus greeted him with a horrible, toothy smile. "I see you have dealt with the little trouble makers."

"Not that it is any of your business, but yes I did," he scowled at the disgusting man. "Pray, what made breaking into my office so popular this evening."

"Oh, Alecto caught some Hufflepuff chit out of bed, and, let's say, got a few answers as to why it was," a dark gleam danced in his eyes, thoroughly disgusting Severus. "Don't look at me like that, Snape. We didn't touch her, pity though it is."

He rose a brow. At least the little torture session with the Dark Lord had _some_ effect on them. That had to count for something.

"We found out that she was meeting up with some friends to sneak into your office and steal something. She didn't know what they wanted with it, but went to help, sodding Hufflepuffs. You know how they are," the man continued on. "So, Alecto and I came up here and saw the office to rights, and took the duty of removing the object to our Lord as soon as possible. Anything to keep Potter from winning, right?"

"You. What?" Severus ground out, seeing red at the deliberate undermining and invasion of his privacy. "Without me there? Did you think I am incapable of doing so myself? Or that the Dark Lord told me to _keep_ it here? Perhaps, if you used that bit between your thoroughly neanderthal skull of yours, you would have thought to ask me about it? If it was protected? If that is fake sent to demoralize the opposition every time they saw it hanging in _my_ office?"

The pitiful man stammered and paled, the look of horror on his face. A spark of dark satisfaction filled Severus as he prowled closer, towering over the cowering man. Let him feel just how enraged this evening made him. How much anger and hatred he contained, all directed at this poor, pathetic excuse of a man. If he could, Severus would wipe him from the face of the earth. Yet, rational thought punched instinct in the face and regained control. With several sneering insults, and a dismissal, Severus left the man scurrying away.

"Well, I hope you're happy, old man," his deep baritone snarled into the silence of his newly warded office. "I hope you had something else up that garish sleeve of your's, because the sword is beyond me now."

Nothing. Not a peep. Not even a pretend snore from the multitude of portraits that stood behind the solid desk. A perverse sense of vindication swirled through Severus' head.

"And to think," he continued, voice low and sly, "This all could have been avoided if you decided to tell me something. Perhaps your precious Potter would be able to do whatever mystery task to win this war with his _inherited_ weapon."

Severus swept out of the room as the other portraits began to round on his predecessor. Several exclamations of how one cannot simply _give_ such a thing to a student followed him to the hidden study. Though the tower had chambers of their own, Severus never felt right in them. They were too airy, too free, and he decidedly did not fit. That did not mean he didn't use the couch for a short kip or the study for moments alone during the day. In fact, hearing all the previous heads of the school scold and tear into Dumbledore did much to alleviate his pounding head. _Serves the old codger right_ , his mind growled.

oOo oOo oOo

Balmy breezes and spicy fragrances danced around Severus once more, and he found himself in the dream once again. The majority of the month passed between this world and the waking, where his God and her Goddess would commune and talk, bond, and slowly crumble his resolve. The things he learnt surprised and enticed him in turns. She showered him with affection. She spoke of hidden dreams that matched his own far too well for his comfort. All the while, growing and changing with his child. Awake, the dreams tasted so sweet and too good to be true. While in Morpheus' grasp, he dared to believe.

Thus passed October.

Samhain dawned cold and crisp, cloudy and grey. Dread built throughout the month, as had confusion. No longer railing against the thought of being with Granger, her records stated her a full year older than he thought, thus a graduate in his mind, other obstacles stood in his way. As he sneered at students in the hall and snarled at faculty and staff alike, apprehension filled him. The dreams took a more desperate, pleading tenor the past few weeks. Ashamed and embarrassed, he released those emotions the only way he could at this moment; by raging at others.

Phineas' 'help' hadn't done anything of the sort. Early in the month, Granger granted him sight once more, though he couldn't hear a single thing, no matter which portrait he sat from. The twits still remained in Grimmauld, but he hadn't seen anything of the young woman. Attempts at lip reading yielding only so much. Dueling often made an appearance on the boy's faces, and a single portrait remained in their make-shift practice room. However, neither boy made more mention of their female friend who disappeared.

Which did not help with Severus' stress levels. He accepted that he felt something for her, more than he ought and desired. Not knowing her condition made him uneasy, as if she were running away from him in particular. Which fed his self loathing, insecurities, shame, and embarrassment. This led to him being angry, and, well the cycle continued. He knew the God asked and pleaded on a nightly basis, and that the Goddess responded enthusiastically, vowing to take care of him if he let her. Yet, a lifetime of insecurity and rejection kept niggling at the back of his mind. Why should this change now? With him, of all people?

A loud crack, and Severus left his chambers after the feast. Anxiety filled him as he flitted about the little cottage in preparation for the celebration. Samhain always drew a large crowd of curious muggles, which guaranteed a far-too-crowded time for someone like him. Fingers fidgeted, legs bounced, and dark eyes scanned while he sat atop his customary stony seat.

Somewhere in this undulating mass of humanity, Hermione Granger stood or sat or waited for _him_. That addictive lick of tingling warmth prickled his skin, exponentially increasing the tumultuous chaos of his mind and stomach. Part of him, a rather large part by now, if he were being totally honest, exalted at the prospect of his mate wanting and waiting just for him. Yet, trusting dreams, of all things, felt too insubstantial and fraught with disappointment. Barely noticing the change in music or atmosphere, dark eyes gazed about the clearing.

Chanting and magic rolled over his senses, bubbling and roiling across his skin, in his blood. Liquid power flowed through him, heightening and electrifying the senses. A shout unleashed magic, exuberant laughter and singing, celebrating and dancing began as his senses reoriented himself from the ancient magic all around. A few moments and eyes opened to a whole new world. Various hues twirled in an elegant, ancient dance of magic, bleeding into one another. Yet, they could not hold his attention. Not this festival. Wading through the kaleidoscope of color, eyes searched as his body hummed, leading him to her.

A crack in the crowd revealed, sitting and waiting. _For him._ Her amber and burgundy stood, flickers of brilliant scarlet danced with her colors, and, before he could think on it, she left. Severus blinked once before he gave chase. Warm colors darted and wove through the writhing crowd, each glimpse leading him closer to his prize. Triumph and satisfaction flooded his chest when, within the shadows of their clearing, he caught her.

For a moment, he stood and relished the feel of her back pressed against his chest, hands twined at their sides. Everything stopped, and righted at once. Contentment and tranquility hummed through his body, mixing with the magic induced euphoria into a potent, addictive cocktail of emotions. Arms moved to wrap around her slim waist, only find it no longer slim. Muscles tensed as his mind whirled at all the implication, the thought ' _What have I done?'_ spiraling on repeat as her body stilled.

Pregnant. His mate and ex-student stood in a clearing in Ireland, cradled against his body, round with his child. Not a single thought formed into coherence for several moments. About the only thing his mind could settle on were colorful expressions for several moments. Which meant that everything in their dreams were true. Her happiness at the situation. Her desire to fulfill his dreams, as they were her's. That optimistic part that grew over the past few months wanted to accept this boon, this gift, and hold it close. Yet, Slytherin logic and pragmatism needed something more substantial.

He spoke and asked and prodded. Only to grow to learn that _she_ wanted this just as much as him. Happiness and excited nervousness radiated from her being as he questioned her, cautious and wary at first. The timing, she conceded to be wrong, but asked when better. He nearly snorted. Any time other than during a war where they stood on opposite sides would have been better, yet her soothing croon smoothed away the edges of his sarcasm and ire.

Small, warm hands guided large calloused ones from her growing waist to the prominent curve of her stomach. Heart caught in his throat, overwhelmed with emotions usually kept under lock and key. Desire and longing mixed with need and a surge of unfounded affection for the brave woman. Now he knew why Phineas' spying came to an end, why he now only saw, never heard, the dunderheads in Grimmauld Place. She wanted to keep this a secret from him, and knew enough about portraits to take appropriate precautions. He could understand, and commended, her desire to keep this quiet.

Bringing his mind to the situation at hand. Her happiness suddenly appeared rather important to him. Curious how he spent months denying caring and abhorring that attachment he now so readily accepted, desired even. A single night and a single truth brought it out, and he could not stop himself from asking just what she required. The answer floored him. _She_ wanted him. His pessimistic mind roared to life. No woman wanted him, so why would she? Fleeting answers such as, 'because you're her mate as well,' flitted through his chaotic mind.

Her sweet affections shaking his being far more than he wished to admit, but no. Unbeknownst to his conscious mind, strong arms wrapped around the witch in front, hold tight, almost panicked. Order slowly formed in the mess of his mind, senses returning to him; the soft sway of her hips, the brisk, fragrant breeze. Voicing his question once more, it shocked him to find that she would take no other. A gulp slid down his throat, and another question, fierce and needy, as he dug for resolve to do the selfless thing, to save her, _them_ a terrified voice corrected, from him. _Yours and yours alone,_ she had asserted, almost in desperation, and his mind looped those words again and again.

She expected him to reject her, for no one to want her, not even her mate through magic. No one expressed a desire for her before this, and why should he be any different. Severus felt this train of thought, and it resonated so strongly within him, he could not say no for the life of him. Every weak, feeble argument brushed way with her delicate hand. Each assertion brought a new spike of fear and terror into him; how could he ever live up to whatever expectations she built? He would simply endanger and disappoint, and thus pushed farther until he asked what she would do if he simply said no.

The answer froze him to the spot. He knew many things about the woman in front of him, both from their nightly dreams and from the six years he spent as her professor. If there was one thing Severus knew about Hermione Granger is that she did not run away from a problem. Unless, he added, she deemed it hopeless to stay otherwise. Surprisingly pragmatic and realistic for a Gryffindor, the woman in his arms knew when to retreat and lick her wounds. She planned for his rejection, a distraught thought spun out and stuck, and planned accordingly. _How very Slytherin of you,_ he mused, defense cracking.

Once more, small hands guided the larger pair along the swell of her torso until it rested, and murmured to him. _A son,_ he blinked back the unexpected tears, _I have a son_. Stopped, she pressed his palm firmly and something flittered and flitted against it. Trembling movements and a sweet voice washed over his senses, and Severus knew he lost. In his possessive and tight embrace stood everything he ever wanted; a witch willing to love him and the promise of a family.

May the gods have mercy on anyone who wished ill on them, for Merlin knew he would have none.


	10. Waiting on the World to Change

**November 1997**

The first week felt surreal. Nothing quite fit how it used to. He knew his manner to be erratic, that the tenured professors wondered just what caused the temperamental mood swings, and several portraits attempted to draw him into conversation about the subject. Yet, none succeeded. Poppy and Minerva watched him when they thought he didn't notice, and more questions were answered from that alone than anything else. His mind slipped back into the previous weeks, overhearing Minerva moving 'them,' and groaned.

Little pleasure did he find in conversing with the silver tabby cat under normal circumstances. In the current climate, Severus found it, in a word, excruciating. Bloody near impossible, if he were being honest, especially if one Albus Dumbledore caught wind of the situation. Yet, a conversation he must have. These thoughts raced through his mind as, several days into the first full week of November, Severus hovered a crate of various draughts and potions the infirmary needed when last he checked. Soft voices trickled into the back passage, and, curiosity getting the better of him, Severus leaned forward to listen.

"I do believe you were quite right, Minnie," Poppy Pomfrey mused. "Very well suited, they are, and the child-"

"An example of fine breeding, unlike what He-Should-Be-Rotting and his lot believe," sniffed Minerva.

Severus muffled an amused snort.

"It was quite brave of her to tell us about it," murmured the matron.

"Indeed, it could not have been easy for her," the easy agreement.

"And her face, as if she faced the fires," the other woman sighed, a soft clink of china followed.

"In a way, I suppose she did," the transfiguration professor softly stated. "If not for her ingenious, little riddle, the big reveal could have easily gone quite differently."

 _Riddle?_ Severus' mind caught on the word, wondering what in the world Hermione had done. He pieced together enough to know that the ladies were both aware of the situation between Hermione and himself. Surprise and worry roiled in his stomach as his mind raced through the ramifications of such information. _And yet,_ the same quiet, steady voice reasoned, _it appeared to_ not _be a surprise to the witches. They were not revolted, nor did they hunt me down to make demands and, most likely, execute some painful form of revenge. They have kept quiet and acted as Wizarding Britain assumed, and expected, they would._ Brow furrowed as his mind worked the newest puzzle thrown his way.

"True, and to keep it from the boys," murmured Poppy, sympathy in her voice. "Her arrangements are quite clever. It is so sad that she cannot trust her friends, but, circumstances as they are…"

A wince answered. The dark man imagined his other half alone, not allowing herself to tell anyone unless she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, they would not betray her. _Or our child,_ the quiet, calm voice murmured in his mind. Anger, fear, and pride bubbled to the surface, only to be smothered by an overwhelming fondness and awe. Just how much she cared for him, _them,_ he corrected, warmed his soul.

"Albus knew exactly what he was doing," Minerva mumbled. "Even if the rest of us do not. Slippery as a Slytherin that one is, and still won't talk to me."

"For good reason, I would think," laughed the matron. "I imagine, even on oil and canvas, Albus wants to avoid your claws for as long as possible. Perhaps, especially _because_ of his current state of existence."

"Fat lot of good it will do him," the other woman growled, "And if he even thinks of escaping, I swear I will pull out the turpentine myself."

"And what would you berate him for, Minnie?" tisked the nurse. "For forsaking one of his own? Misusing children? Training them for war? Why don't you just go ahead and just tell him everything while you're at it, hm? Face it," a soft chink of china reached his hallway hide out, "until this is all over, talking to Albus will only make you say more than you should. Think of the children here, the others, _them._ Don't make it harder than it needs to be."

"I just wish it didn't have to be this way," Minerva's Scottish lilt murmured. "My little angels, in so much pain and turmoil. I hope she is right about all of this. For her sake."

"As do I, Min, as do I," Poppy's soothing cadence followed.

A world weary sigh, and resigned goodbyes followed shortly thereafter. As Severus snuck into the infirmary, his mind reeled with new information. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _approaching Minerva will not be quite as daunting as I originally thought._

oOo oOo oOo

Several evenings later, Severus sat, veritable mountains of paperwork surrounding his person. Things started to spiral downward in the school, though he took great pains to keep it from descending too quickly into madness. Often the dark haired wizard felt like too little butter spread upon a hearty piece of toast, always a step behind a Carrow traumatization session or some misplaced bought of student rebellion. Through it all, he could only think of what he overheard in the Hospital Wing.

He inferred, from their writings and the clandestine conversation, that Hermione knew of their, and her own, situation long before hand. Being an intelligent, logical witch, Severus imagined she realized it at the same time as he; when the Order removed Potter from his Aunt and Uncle's home. Almost four months, _has it been so short a time? And yet, it feels like a lifetime,_ Severus mused, scrawling a correct punishment for Amycus to mete for a young Hufflepuff.

Quite ingenius of Hermione to give a riddle or a thought to guide her well wishers. Rather Slytherin of her, if Severus were to admit it. A part of him burned to ask her about it, yet he thought it best to do so in person. Merlin, did he want to see her, and, at times, he didn't know why. The stubborn, pessimistic part reminded him that Severus did not actually _know_ Hermione Granger all that well, even as a student. How could he miss someone? Or want to be around them so strongly? Yet, he did.

Lank, black locks shook back and forth, a few slipping forward. Finger moved the hair behind his ear as his mind drifted far from yet another egregious discipline form. Eyes strained to decipher the chicken scratch that passed for writing when a soft chime echoed through his mind. Without missing a beat, he reached into his inner pocket and produced the navy volume. Soft leather slid under his thumb's light caress before he turned to the newest entry.

 _ **Good evening, my dear,**_ her entry began, and Severus fought to keep even the barest of smiles off his face. _**I hope I am not interrupting anything particularly important. I simply wanted to say hello and tell you about my day, not that it was exciting or different.**_

So she wrote. Sometimes their conversations were academic. Her spell crafting inquiries delighted him in particular, as so few people took the time to create their own spells. Other times, she simply bantered back and forth, trading witty commentary and sarcastic observations of the world around them. Severus chose students and staff to use his particular brand of witticisms, and often those she knew well so to keep her informed of their health. For her, it happened to be the elves and their "overly solicitous, protective, demanding" behavior towards her. Today, he found to his amusement, happened to be one of those days.

 _ **And you will never believe it! Tilly has made it so I am always tucked, rather snugly, and has tried to ban my morning walks. Simply because I cannot walk as fast nor as far as I could a month ago does not mean I am infirm, injured, or ill. It is not my fault that he presses against my lungs. I practically have one of the elves holding my hand just to take a turn about the flower garden!**_ Severus nearly snorted at the image of Hermione Granger, defender and liberator of house elves, being led by a hand holding elf with large, luminous eyes imploring her to stay inside.

 _ **Everyone knows it's better for both mother and child to have regular exercise. Granted, the little man feels quite content to simply do somersaults, kick my ribs, and dance on my bladder. I wonder where he got that from.**_ At that, Severus choked back a chuckle, easily imagining the playful, accusing tone. The rest of the message talked of odd cravings, some aches and pains, and other little things.

Severus tapped his long index finger against his chin, thinking of an appropriate reply. Unbeknownst to the young witch on the other side of this journal, he savored these moments of normality, away from the horror of the war that raged on, even within these walls. She could not know how much it meant to him for Hermione to accept him fully into her life, to _want_ to share such benign details as what foods she currently craved or how putting on socks and shoes slowly became more and more difficult. Severus did not tolerate such inanities under normal circumstances. Yet, with her, it revealed more of this woman whom magic marked as his, and he fell under her thrall. No one had ever wanted him in their life before, and Severus savored every moment.

 _ **Far be it from me, my darling, to correct the elves upon the correct way to properly take care of a woman in your circumstance. While there is much I wish to speak of in person, I can safely and honestly say, I am a rather protective individual. Therefore, I am the last to rescue you from your current house elf situation. If anything, pass on my compliments and thanks for their continued, dutiful care,**_ he penned. **You may very well find yourself quite smothered upon the happy day we meet once more.**

Her reply came swift and playful, and so they continued to banter. From their day to house elves and their need to serve how _they_ sought fit to serve, their topics varied. Every quarter of an hour, or so, Severus would stop the painfully slow process of going through the Alps of parchment and flip open the navy journal. As supper came to an end, Severus too caught up in work to notice the time on this day, an obnoxious voice intruded on his silence.

"May I ask, dear boy, what book you have there?" Albus inquired, innocent as could be. "It appears to be quite the handsome volume. I cannot recall ever seeing it before."

"It is just a journal I picked up after Samhain," Severus muttered, waving a distracted hand in hopes to quiet his predecessor.

"Even from here, I can see it is well made," hummed the old man, blue eyes regarding him with a carefully blank expression. "And what shop did it come from? I cannot imagine such a piece being easily accessible."

"A small Irish shop," Severus bit out, wary of the old Gryffindor's interest.

A few minutes of silence settled upon the office. The soft gong of a bell releasing classes followed by the rumble of students filled the space. Soft snores and the last of the birds added to the gilded peace. Another chime alerted him, and, soon, Severus had the small journal open once more.

 _ **Is that a promise?**_ Her curved handwriting inked upon the cream page made his heart swell. In an instant he penned a response, he scarcely remembered the exact words, just the staggering emotions. As Severus felt ready to take mental sigh of relief, the dreaded tenor once more spoke.

"You seem to write in it quite often, Severus," Albus mused, a slight disapproving note in his tone.

"As I find myself with less time to do my potions work, I record such thoughts and ideas in this journal," he remarked in a dry, distracted tone.

"I dare say, it appears a bit distracting," continued the oil painting. "I simply ask, because I only want what is best for the students."

"I assure you, Albus, that this journal is anything but," a swirl of dark fabric followed Severus, standing up in indignation. "As you have already sacrificed my life and my soul, I kindly ask you leave my personal matters the _fuck_ alone."

"Dear boy, I am only concerned," started the wizened wizard.

"No, you wish me to live by your standards and your rules," his silky voice growled. "I am doing everything you ask of me to the best of my capabilities. If I decide to write in a journal while unable to practice my own art, it is none of your business. If what you say has no impact or bearing on that front, I ask you hold your damnable, Gryffindor tendency towards nosiness to yourself."

"On that note," Phineas sighed after a pointed stare from the current headmaster, "There is no outstanding news from the two nitwits. They still duel, and all I see is of their rather pitiful attempts to perform the most basic of strategies."

"No news of Miss Granger, Phineas?" the high handed question from Dumbledore.

"None. While they occasionally will say her name, I have not seen hide nor hair of her for weeks, as you know, Albus," he stated as nonchalantly as if speaking of the weather. "I doubt you have anything to worry about, seeing as the two dunderheads are perfectly happy and content at the moment. You Gryffindors cannot keep emotions off your faces to save your lives, and, unless I am mistaken, they would appear agitated if something serious befell the girl."

"As you say, Phineas," demurred Dumbledore.

All the while, Severus rolled his eyes. As always, bypassed by a painting over information that he rightfully held. _If nothing else,_ the younger Slytherin thought back at his desk to continue tackling the slips that threatened to cover it whole, _it keeps the old poof out of my business._

oOo oOo oOo

On that Thursday, during the normal staff meeting, Severus smirked and sneered at the assorted witches and wizards gathered before him. With new eyes, he observed that the 'old guard,' as Alecto liked to cackle, were rather attentive. Yes, their glares appeared cold, glances disappointing, and mutterings discontented, but their eyes spoke of a tentative understanding.

"And Minerva," Severus drawled as he drew to a close, "I expect to see you in my office at half past eight sharp this evening. We have much to discuss about your _little angels._ "

He threw in a sneer for good measure, and, with grim satisfaction, saw the indignant expression blaze upon the elder lioness' face. Confident, graceful steps born of many years practice lead him from the Hogwarts War Council meeting Severus convenient ignored to his office. Once there, he immersed himself in the mind numbing continuance of paperwork required to run a boarding school. Parchment shuffled across his desk, quill scratching nonstop through supper and beyond, as became his nightly tradition. A knock at a prompt thirty after eight broke his concentration and, with a swish, the room righted itself.

"Come in," his deep voice intoned.

"You requested me, Headmaster?" her haughty response.

"Sit, there is much to be discussed," a black clad arm motioned towards the chairs across his desk.

With a flick of the wrist, a white cloud formed in front of the picture frames of the previous heads of the school. Mutters and shouts of dismay came through the fog, dampened and quieted. Every painting in the office appeared frosted. A smug smirk tugged at his lips at the sight of Minerva McGonagall gaping both at him and the frames around her.

"What have you done?" She asked, part awe, part horror.

"Let us say, I have ensured us total privacy. While the previous holders of this prestigious position cannot speak of anything inside this office with anyone else, I believe this meeting will go much smoother should they not be able to see or hear anything," his silky voice explained.

"And, pray, what do we have so private to speak about, Headmaster?" A brow quirked up in question.

Now that the moment presented itself, words escaped the typically eloquent wizard. How could he explain to the witch here that he sought an audience with a young lady that, if all he read and inferred to be correct, saw her as her own daughter. Severus never thought he would find himself in a serious relationship, not after Lily and the disastrous decision to join the Death Eaters. However, here he sat, about to ask his mate's surrogate mother permission to see her daughter. _Damn it all._

"Am I correct in the understanding that you are a devout follower of the Old Ways?" Severus asked, deciding to start with a vague question.

"Yes, as you are more than well aware," Minerva responded, a politely curious expression upon her face.

"In that case, I am sure you know about magical mates," a nod spurred him to continue. "Then, you would no doubt be surprised to learn that I, too, follow the traditions. Can you imagine my surprise, when, after decades of attending the holidays, I find myself with a mate after one such gathering?" A wary glint flashed in her eyes, as if watching a dangerous predator ready to pounce. "I confess myself quite surprised at this occurrence."

"As fascinating as this story is, Severus," the older witch broke down, saying his name without even noticing in her distracted speech, "I cannot, for the life of me, understand why you feel the need to share with me."

"I am getting to that, if you would but wait a moment," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You found your magical mate," the wry comment from the tabby cat answered.

"Yes, well, imagine, Minerva, how I must have felt when I discovered, during a skirmish no less, that my other half happened to be none other than one of your own cubs," he sneered at the pain and denial he felt at the time. "Me, the big, bad Death Eater matched with none other than your own protege and know-it-all extraordinaire, Miss Hermione Granger."

Instead of a shocked gasp or rousing denial, the prim witch in front of him stared into his eyes. Hazel met dark brown, probing into his soul without any magic. _This at least confirmed that both Poppy and Minerva previously knew of this,_ Severus mused. Minerva settled further into her chair, a contemplative look in her eye. _Hell, they are probably her only support at this moment in time. I cannot imagine her being able to talk about any of this with Potter or Weasley-Boy-the-Sixth. Maybe with Weasley-girl, but if they were in contact, she would have known not to steal the sword, or, at the very least, where to take it._

"As I thought, none of this is news to you," his low baritone rumbled through the room. "Not that I can admit it a surprise. The staff has been suspiciously supportive under their rather juvenile attempts to prank me. I must admit it raises the morale of the students, which is something of a priority at this moment. Let me warn you, though, that raising the attempts would be unwise. Please inform the rest of your war council that, in this case, quality supersedes quantity."

Sputters of disbelief greeted his ears, a smug smirk gracing his features. Severus enjoyed outmaneuvering Minerva as such inarticulate displays amused him greatly. For a moment, it felt like any other meeting between the two in the staff room. Her pinched expression and narrowed eyes almost made him laugh.

"Though I am not quite as omnipresent as dear, old Albus," he let the sarcasm drip off his voice, "I do know most of what happens in this school."

"So it seems," growled the tabby animagus. "Which brings me back to my original question, what is it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"I thought I made myself quite clear earlier," Severus commented, keeping his voice carefully neutral. "I would like to speak to you about your little angels."

Confusion bled into understanding and curiosity. Leaning back into her chair once more, Minerva studied him as before. That penetrating gaze, more so that the twinkling blue of his predecessor's, had the unwelcome effect of making Severus want to squirm. Several times early in his tenure, Severus remembered actually shying away from such a look. A worrisomely feline expression spread across her features as a soft chuckle filled the air.

"Well, well, well, it appears Hermione does, indeed, know something of you," mused the Gryffindor aloud. "And what about Hermione do you wish to know?"

"She mentioned that I must ask your _permission_ ," the word tasted sour in his mouth, "to meet with her in person."

"And how you must hate that," the laughing response. "Tell me, Severus, we have known each other many years. What are your intentions with Hermione? You must be aware I view her as my daughter in all but blood."

"Nothing nefarious, if you must know," at the unimpressed look, Severus heaved a sigh and ran his hands through his lank hair. Expressing himself never came naturally to him, thus making subsequent conversations so taxing, tiresome, and awkward on his account. "Minerva, she is my mate, my other half. Surely, you, of all people, can understand both my intentions and my feelings on this matter."

"Humor an old lady," an impish smirk sparkled at him, a trait reminiscent of another elder Gryffindor.

"You are hardly senile, no matter what I say outside this office," grunted the younger man. A wry, bemused brow rose in response. Another deep, sigh answered. "Be difficult if you must-"

"I shall," Minerva cheerfully interjected.

"-But I maintain it is for no vicious reason," Severus finished, sending an irritated glare at the tabby cat. At length, he continued with, "my aspirations are quite ambitious, but my intention is to meet and talk with her. From there, I wish to obtain an understanding of sorts, to see if we can form a proper relationship."

"And your true aspiration?" She asked, head tilted to the side as she considered the man before her.

"To finish the ritual," he stated, dark eyes intense as they stared into her hazel.

Pensive silence descended upon the office. Severus did not know how long, the old grandfather clock ticking the only marker of time's passage. Gryffindors, for all he sniped and harassed, did not count amongst the most consistent of people. Often, he found Minerva or Albus took unprecedented or unconventional action in situations Severus thought he predicted correctly. Overreaction, protection of their cubs, tended to highlight the twists and turns of their personalities, finding unique (though, often times, convoluted and ridiculous) ways to solve problems.

"Tell me," her quiet, Scottish brogue suffused the air, "How does this fit with the rest of your life as it stands."

 _And that's the kicker,_ his wry thought.

"There are two options," Severus took a deep breath, steepling his fingers and tapping them to his chin. "The first is to keep it all a secret. It would be difficult. Magical signatures change with the ritual, and the _Dark Lord_ ," venom laced the words, "detects such things through the mark. He already did from the mating as it stands. Any more change requires another plausible cover story that matches the first."

A sound of accession greeted those words. With a deep breath, the dark wizard settled deeper into his chair. He debated the merits of masking his magical signature, played with the concept after the Midsummer Festival. To his dismay, it failed. Spectacularly. Not only did the Dark Lord notice the difference, he felt the masking spell as well. Quick wits kept Severus alive, spinning an excuse of not wanting his brothers to feel the change, though knowing he could never keep it from his _master._ As Samhain drew near, a half thought plan tickled the edges of his mind, a nebulous idea at best. Afterwards, well, he fleshed it into a fully formed, workable solution. Very risky, perhaps, but the best he could do.

"The second option may very well sit better with your more Gryffindor sensibilities," he sneered, no heat behind the expression or words. "The general idea would be to introduce her as my mate to the Dark Lord." Seeing the fear and fight in the words, Severus held up a hand to cut off the tirade sure to come.

"What you must understand, Minerva, is that He only cares about power. To keep His financial backers and politically powerful majority under His thumb, the Dark Lord united them under the banner of keeping wizarding society pure. Even now, half mad and more reptilian than human, He is scarily pragmatic. He will feel her power as a leyborn, see the bond between us, and accept Her into his society," Severus explained, speaking quickly to override the witch before him. "The Dark Lord is quite fascinated with the Old Ways, and highly respects those who truly follow the Wheel and it's teachings. He also holds all the cards, as it were."

"What do you mean?" Minerva's brow furrowed, not quite liking how this sounded.

"And you are supposed to be intelligent," he quipped, sending a half hearted smirk her way before turning serious once more. "Think, will you? With her mate as a loyal servant, the Dark Lord will have two, if not more, strings to pull and keep Hermione in line. He is smart enough to know she would do anything for her family, and needs no other resource to manipulate her."

"How, exactly, is this a plan?" the witch growled, staring his down.

"Because, she can gain information I cannot, and help buy the brainless twits she calls _friends_ ," eyes rolled as the thought that they would abandon her if they knew who he was to her flashed across his mind, "to do whatever task the old poof set upon them. To have such inside information would, surely, be a boon from the Order, as I have been unable to fulfill that role of late."

A contemplative lull followed this declaration, sound rippling out towards the edge of the proverbial pond. He watched as his colleague pondered his words and reason. He spoke plainly, knowing Gryffindors to require such directness his Slytherins and several Ravenclaws loathed. The things he did for his mate, even if she sat unaware of those action.

"Also," he murmured, slowly, as if to himself, "It will keep them both safe if we were to lose this war." He felt the sharp gaze more so than observed it, and elaborated. "You must understand, Minerva, my first priority is to them. They _must_ live through this war." _They have to,_ a desperate voice pleaded. "Do not mistake me, I will fight as I always have, and I doubt Hermione will give up the cause. Think of this as a contingency plan, if all else fails. I will protect them to the best of my abilities.

"Always."

oOo oOo oOo

Severus figured he said something right that night. True, the portraits nearly rebelled, Albus in particular, but he decided the cost worthwhile. A nondescript barn owl flew through his window the next night, a small parcel tied with twine around its leg. A frog leg later saw the post, generic print addressed to him, sitting upon the solid, ornate desk. Fingers withdrew a small card stuck under the twine. Flipping it open, eyes read the single line of spelled text. _Remember your promise._ Three simple words. Curiosity, the bane of all Slytherins, gripped the dark wizard as he took hold of the string and pulled. A small box containing a proportionally sized velveteen bear greeted him. A piece of parchment fluttered to the desk, detailing the time and date.

For, perhaps, the hundredth time that day, Severus examined said parchment. Innocuous and small, the rush of emotions it invoked within him never failed to shock or surprise the man. Hope. Fear. Anxiety. Desire. Happiness. More swirled in his gut. _Tomorrow,_ a voice whispered in his mind, _I will see her for the first time as peers, a romantic interest, my hopeful future, tomorrow._


	11. Some Enchanted Evening

**November 1997**

"Master Headmaster has left the school, Professor," the high pitched voice of a school house elf - _Winky? Blinky? Dinky? Merlin knows_ \- interrupted Minerva's previous pensive state. "He's be saying you's to be in charge of school things until he's back."

"Is that all?" The elder witch inquired, not unkindly.

"Yes ma'am," bowed the creature.

"Thank you, then," her Scottish lilt dismissed, and, with a soft pop, the elf left her alone to her thoughts.

Of course, Minerve knew exactly where the Headmaster whisked himself away to on this occasion. Her mind's eye traveled from the drafty castle to a snow-covered domicile to the north, a red door greeting her musings. The most crucial meeting laid before Hermione. Words and letters, ancient magics and rituals, were all well and good, but the truest test of any couple laid in actually sharing the same air, the same space, and learning to tolerate those things which only time and company reveal.

Ardent words, though plainly spoken from such a normally eloquent and guarded man, still twirled in her mind. Never, in all her years of knowing him, did Minerva witness such a blunt, blatant explanation. No artifice emerged, only earnest emotion the likes she never thought Severus capable of displaying to others. So, she gave her daughter her blessing and prayed to any who would listen to protect the pair.

A soft chime echoed inside her head. Thoughts swirled together as fingers opened the soft leather of a familiar journal. Graceful, black lines curved into a single sentence.

 _ **He's here.**_

Thin lips pulled into a wistful smile. Leaning back into her wingback chair, a single thought emerged from the chaos of her mind. _Good luck, lassie._

* * *

Pale hands clasped behind his back, hiding the tremor of anxiety and adrenaline. Here stood Severus, in a warm, inviting sitting room. Burgundies and creams adorned the walls and furnishings. Gold and bronze trimmings and metals glinted in the light, as small accent pieces of soft blue caught the eye. Large, comfortable sofas and chairs stood in front of a magnificent fireplace. Logs crackling from the flame's dance the only sound.

Severus hesitated to remember just _how_ he arrived at such a sitting room. One moment, the velveteen bear hooked him through the navel and pulled him to what he could only imagine being from a fairytale. For a split moment, twinkling candlelights and warm, red door resembled an illustration from a fantastical childhood story. The howling gales of the Scottish north during November quickly reminded Severus of the reality. His current reality. He began the short trek up the gravel walkway only to be ushered by what he assumed to be the very pushy elves Hermione wrote.

'Follow me to the sitting room,' one said, as the other took his traveling cloak. 'Mistress will be right down,' another chimed in. Each crackle of the warm fire marked time. Both an infinity and no time at all, Severus could not quite figure out how to compose his mind. At that moment, the cowardly, flighty part of him itched to leave as soon as humanly possible. Yet, the truly magical part, fostered by years of dutiful service to the God and Goddess, felt the thrum of life and magic, _her_ magic.

Everything stood still when the turn of the handle and a squeaky voice caught Severus' attention. He barely paid any mind to the small creature introducing his mistress, nor to her gentle request for a tea service to be brought. Dark eyes drank in the image of perfection, at least to him. Wild, bushy hair curled and framed her face, whiskey eyes twinkling with health and intelligence. One hand laid on her swollen stomach, larger than last he saw, while the other supported her back.

Like the gobsmacked idiot he was, Severus stood and watched as the elves fussed about. Just as comical to witness, he fought the twitch of a smile that threatened to break across his face. Her brows contracted as the elves imperiously instructed her to lay upon the sofa closest to the fire only to be swaddled up rather impressively. By the time he realized he stared at the whole proceedings with speaking, a rather satirical, arched brow greeted him.

"My apologies, Miss Granger," the formal words out of his lips before he consciously stopped their utterance.

"Very well, Headmaster," her response, grave as his own words with a sparkle of mischief. "I thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me."

"It was no trouble at all," Severus responded quickly, before taking a seat at her bidding. "I must thank you for allowing me the honor of your company."

"Come now," a tinkling laugh answered. "Are we going to speak like this the whole night? So stiff and formal, really."

"I'm afraid I'm not quite good at conversing more casually," admitted the dark haired man, a note of embarrassment coloring his normally silky tones. "I find most small talk to be remarkably mundane and uninteresting."

"You? I would never have guessed," Hermione quipped.

"Is that cheek?" He raised a single, black brow.

"And if it is?" Brown eyes drew Severus into their thrall. "Let us start again." She straightened up marginally, pulling her spine back and bestowed upon him a soft, sweet smile. "Hello, I am glad you made it safely. How have you been?"

"I-" he blinked for a moment, unable to put two and two together. Rare the person to accept him so quickly and unconditionally. _Though,_ a voice in his mind mused, _it had not been all that immediate._ "To be quite frank, rather horrible." Hermione made to speak, but a pale hand stopped her. "However, that is not a subject I wish to broach at this time."

"Tell me, Headmaster, what do you wish to speak of?" Chocolate curls tumbled to the side, her head turned to listen.

"You know well what I wish to speak of, _Hermione,_ " her name a purr of velvet.

Eyes darkened and pulse skipped a beat. Male satisfaction welled up at the sight. He leaned back in the comfortable chair, and watched as the woman gathered herself. A slight furrow marked the observation. Even with what time he knew she turned in her third year -a decision Severus thoroughly chewed his previous employer on- Hermione, his Hermione, should not have been more than eighteen at the most. While appearing mature, he observed that no student reached physical maturity until several years _out_ of Hogwarts. Before him sat a fully formed woman, no remnant of teenage youth clung to her frame.

"If you are done inspecting me, _Severus_ ," her sweet voice replied in kind, a shiver shooting up his spine, mouth drying at the sound of his name on her lips. "There is not a lack of subjects to discuss. Rather, where would you like to start?"

"I believe an explanation of how this happened would due," Severus murmured, watching her.

"Well, you see, when a man and a woman-" She began, the impish look in her eyes belying the serious expression upon her countenance.

"Not _that,_ " he scowled.

"You need to be a bit more specific," Hermione chuckled, leaning back once more on her sofa.

"You appear more physically mature," Severus carefully picked his words, hoping to not offend Hermione as he often did other women. "In comparison to your peers, even with what time you added in your third year."

"Ah, that," she sobered, hand reaching around her neck to a thin, golden chain. "What do you know about my third year?"

"According to the great poof himself, you only used a time turner, which Merlin knows _how_ he got _that_ approved, to attend every, single possible third year class," HIs dark eyes bored into Hermione, who returned a sheepish smile. A sudden flash of inspiration crashed through Severus' mind. "It never stopped with your third year, did it?"

"No, it did not," Hermione sighed, a faraway look in her eye.

"How old are you really?" Severus slowly inquired.

"Well, chronologically, I should be eighteen, being a September child and all," she began. "Adding in the initial ten months," Severus gaped. How did he never notice? "That would make me recently nineteen, moving my birthday back to November. Now, though," a slender finger tapped her chin, eyes calculating an invisible formula, "I am closer to twenty-four or twenty-five."

Severus thought himself observant. Within a single lesson, he learned all the tells of his students. In a single meeting, he could tell you just what people were thinking, and not from legilimency. A clench of the fingers, a minute twitch of a muscle, the jump of a pulse all told Severus just what the individual wanted to hide. Eyes can scan a room, remembering every detail.

For the majority of his life, Severus considered it a curse. Who would want to remember every whimper, scream, and plea from an abusive household? To this day, nightmares of his hellacious childhood woke up him in a cold sweat. Years taught him the difference between the vivid fabrication and hard reality, but that did not make the terror any less.

Hence, when Hermione added _six_ years to her 'natural' age, Severus could do nothing but stare. How had he missed _that_?

"Pardon?" He blinked.

"Glamors, Severus," she sighed with a shake of her head. "It started so innocently, you know. 'You will watch out for Harry, won't you?' Of course, I would watch out for my bloody brother. After the whole fiasco with Professor Lupin," here, Severus winced at the terrifying memory of nearly dying to a werewolf. Again. "I wanted nothing to do with it. Gave Minerva her turner back and everything. Fourth year starts and it was normal until Crouch went and turned Harry's life arse over kettle. Again.

"Did you know, that night, Professor Dumbledore gave me my own?" she snorted, a derisive sound.

From the front of her turquoise robes, a small, golden pendant emerged. Delicate loops encircled a glittering hourglass, barely visible runes and patterns etched and engraved upon the surface. Never having seen one in person, Severus marveled at the contraption, so beautiful yet insidiously addictive. Dangerous. His God balked at the item, wanting nothing more than to rip it from his mate's pretty neck.

"Yeah, she wasn't too happy with it either," Hermione rolled her eyes, "However, it's safer with me."

Black hair fell forward. He thought about it, and realized, with the rest of the known time turners destroyed, the last remaining piece _would_ cause quite the stir.

"I may have, kind of, tipped the shelf over. On purpose," She added. A raised brow aimed at the woman brought another sheepish blush to her face. "You can't tell me that allowing a ministry controlled by _Him_ with time turners in his possession to be a good idea. I may be younger than you, but I am not completely inept or unobservant."

"I have never claimed anything to the contrary," Severus conceded, quickly turning his head when Hermione shot him an arched brow of her own.

"Infernal know-it-all does indicate the presence of intelligence, at the very least" her droll ripost.

Dark eyes glared, no heat behind the expression. A tinkling laugh filled the room, taking Severus' breath away. The whole experience, while pleasing, confounded him. Women did _not_ find him witty, at least, he acknowledged, they did not understand his wit. Nor did they laugh so freely in his presence. Irritable moods, less than stellar appearances, and antisocial nature turned the fairer sex against him more often than not. Yet, here sat a woman who defied the odds. _Miscalculated and misjudged, indeed._

"Like I said," Hermione sighed, gathering her thoughts, "Professor Dumbledore asked me to watch out for Harry, gave me a time turner, and said 'have at it.' Well, more or less." Curls bounced to the side at the tilt of her head. "I relived the day before the second trial quite more often than I'd like to admit, trying to find _anything_ within Harry's skill range that would work. For the first and third tasks, it was more of a normal, relive twice sort of event. Added a year or so there, alone.

"Fifth year is when it truly started," a frown marred her face. "With Umbridge parading around the school, Professor gave me a hidden private quarters, off of Harry's map, and set me with an activatable portkey to a friend of his. Extra lessons, you see, to help Harry. Of course, I had to prod him out of his self-absorbed depression," whisky eyes rolled, and Severus snorted in return. "It worked out well, really. Distract the boys. Learn more about magic. Help Harry.

"By the end of that year, before Harry decided to not listen to reason -again, I had learned the basics of healing and some spell fusion, and, with OWLs done and out of the way, I was free to study more," Hermione shrugged, adjusting a woolen blanket around feet. "I relived sixth year, once as a normal student, once to study for my NEWTs, and twice more because Dumbledore wanted me to learn advanced arithmancy and potions.

"So, in total, six extra years of life," Hermione stated, matter-of-fact and open.

His mind whirled. The machinations of Albus Dumbledore were many and great, and stealing the childhood of a student was no new feat for the man. Yet, he never thought that his predecessor would play with time in such a way. Perhaps the most delicate, leaving the safety of the fabric of time to a mere child, albeit one more mature than the average student, risked more than just a war in Britain.

 _Graduated,_ echoed through his mind. _Graduated, completed NEWTs, twenties._ Repeated over and over through his head, Severus' body deflated in relief, in the simple joy of knowing that he did _not_ bond to a student. Oh, he had accepted his mate in totality. Yet, the niggling morality and conscious _still_ railed against the idea of being with a student. A weight lifted from his soul, one he never noticed before.

"Am I to understand that Albus Dumbledore encouraged you to use a time turner? Throughout your time at Hogwarts?" His voice, low and smooth, inquired.

"More like required," Hermione fiddled with the small, innocuous trinket. "He kept a log of how often I went and how long I turned. Towards the end of last year, in particular, he would send me back for the most inane of reasons."

"Dumbledore did become progressively less lucid," Severus murmured, thoughts racing.

"Ah, then that was not just my imagination," she leaned back, a thoughtful nibble on the lip catching his attention. "What he had Harry do, and planned, well, any rational, sane person would not assign an emotionally unstable teenager to do alone, hoping his two best friends actually go along on the grand quest."

"Yes, the man held his secrets close to the vest until the end," murmured the dark wizard. "I tried, multiple times, to wheedle information about what he wanted from you lot, but he remained firm."

"Of course he did," Hermione rolled her eyes once more, huffing an irritated sigh. "We can't _possibly_ have someone well versed in dark magic and the dark arts as a resource while going on a scavenger hunt from hell. That would be too easy."

The bitter, hopeless note in her voice shocked Severus for a moment. Cynical, he believed in her. Yet, so despondent in one - _well, perhaps not one_ so _young,_ his mind supplied. Still, he knew Hermione Granger to be resilient, resourceful, and oddly opportunistic for a Gryffindor. Not that she would make a great Slytherin by any means, but, Severus allowed, she held more common sense and self control than many of her House. A frown etched upon his face once more, dark eyes regarding the woman. Just what could be so horrible to make her sound almost like _him._

The idea to probe her mind flitted through his mind, but he brushed it off just as quickly. If she truly spent an extra six years learning from various masters and tutors, Dumbledore would see to her training in occlumency. Nevertheless, curiosity gnawed away at his mind. She mentioned the dark arts. Surely, with such a connection made, perhaps he could finally find out what the old poof schemed behind his back. Even halfway to the moon, Dumbledore's pragmatism impressed and scared Severus.

"And what, if I may ask, did he assign your little band of merry men to accomplish?" His silky voice curled around Hermione. A smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth at her delicate shiver.

"I see what you're about, Severus Snape," Hermione huffed, fighting to keep the desire that swirled in the room at bay. "Some subjects are best kept for the light of day, and I daresay this is one of them." The man conceded the point, with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulders, no longer hiding his smirk.

"And pray, madam, what do you wish to speak of if not the obvious?" Severus allowed himself to be distracted, if just for the time being.

Mischief sparkled in her eyes, twinkling in the warm light of the room. _Damn Gryffindors and their twinkling eyes,_ a note of fondness coloring the observation. Dark eyes gravitated towards the pleasing curves of her neck, up the contour of her cheek to those impish, amber eyes. Pink lips tilted up in an answering smile, clearly pleased with his perusal.

"I don't know, what about something of a more _personal_ nature," her voice caressed Severus' senses. "You have the advantage of knowing me for most of my life. Tell me about you."

A nervous gulp slipped down his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. True, their nightly visits and daily banter introduced one to the other, but the specifics… Logically, Severus expected this question, waiting for it with the dread of a secretive, private man. Yet, he owed this to the woman. Even if they were not bound by the Ancient Magics, Hermione deserved to know. His twisted morals could not allow the mother of his child to wonder if his nasty temper and unforgiving nature would be passed onto their son. A fortifying breath granted him the strength necessary to go on.

"I am, as I am sure Potter told you, a half-blood," and so he began.

* * *

Honey eyes took in the strained, far-away look of her mate as he spoke. Neither pretty nor pleasant, Hermione listened with rapt attention. Lank, raven locks swung forward, blocking her view of his face. _An unconscious, defense mechanism, no doubt,_ her mind whirled. Expression and emotion, so prevalent in his normal form of speech, dwindled to a dull, almost monotonous account of his life. Perversely, the proper clipped tones of her professor gave way to blurred consonants of his childhood.

"My mother, Eileen Prince, was a pureblood from one of the lesser families," Severus sighed, looking into some distant memory. "She was intelligent but quiet and meek. A Slytherin, like the rest of the family. Too mousey to catch His attention, thankfully. A year after her graduation from Hogwarts, she attended one of the lesser festivals. There, she met a curious muggle by the name of Tobias Snape." He sneered, disgust written across his features.

"After the festival, they had one last roll in the hay, and hence I came to be," a pale hand rubbed his face, gripping the bridge of his prominent nose. "When she found out, she did the pureblood thing; went to him and begged him marriage. At that point, Tobias, my father, took her in, but he never trusted magic, swore it made him be with me mum.

"Needless to say, they weren't exactly a loving couple. Then, the mill workers started to go on strike, times were difficult, and my father turned to the drink," Severus sighed, the tired, lonely sound wrapping around Hermione's heart. "He blamed his witch of a wife, how dare they not have nice things? What use was magic if it couldn't give him anything he wanted? She bewitched him, saddled him with a freak of a child, and placed a curse on his job. So, he beat her. Raped her. Broke her. All in front of me, and, when he was done with her, turned to me. He blamed me for his misfortunes just as much as he did me mam.

"My home life, as such, was neither nice or pretty," hollow, black eyes stared into her amber pair.

No warmth or life flickered in his eyes, only desolate pain. A handkerchief dabbed at the corner of her eyes. Hermione viciously fought back the urge to cry, unfairly blaming her crazy hormones. She doubted that, without the dreams or the journals, a man as unreadable and secretive as Severus Snape would consider revealing any fraction of this to her. He pressed on, telling her of the downward spiral of his childhood.

"And then, one day, I met a girl in the park," he sighed. "Pretty as could be, and a witch. Imagine my surprise to meet someone like me in the middle of the most depressing muggle town imaginable. When some bullies tried to pick on her, I went and attempted to help. As with most things of that nature, I failed, but we became friends. I-I taught her about magic, what I knew, what my mother whispered to me when my father was otherwise occupied. We became friends, for a time.

"Who was she?" Hermione asked, delicate and careful of a blow-up.

"Lily," a heavy sigh answered. "Lily Evans Potter."

Hermione sat, stunned at the realization. Severus had been friends, and, if his narrative anything to go by, felt far more than that at one time, with Harry's mother. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Whenever insulting Harry, he never mentioned the boy's mother. Always the arrogance of the father. The hatred that rolled off in waves since their first year. Especially if the rumors and stories she heard to be true. His childhood sweetheart in love and married to one of his primary tormentors. So lost in thought, Hermione almost missed as the dark wizard across from her spoke once more.

"Then, we went to Hogwarts," a mirthless laugh echoed in the quiet room.

For hours, he recounted the terror of his school days. Hermione could scarce comprehend how such malicious, dangerous bullying slipped past Dumbledore. _Except_ , the nasty little voice in her head hissed, _except that I can believe he never cared, or, more likely, encouraged the schism. How could someone, so omnipresent within the school, not know how much_ harm _they were causing? I long suspected the philosopher's stone to be a test, a trap of some sort, to see how Harry would respond to a challenge._

A loud snort and huff answered the account of why Lily Evans ended her friendship with the man across from her. He noticed, dark brow arched in silent inquiry.

"She broke off a friendship that you two had for most of your life over a single word? How daft could she be?" Hermione rolled her eyes.

A look of confusion greeted those words, and Hermione silently thanked the God and Goddess. Going on a near-homicidal rage while pregnant ranked pretty high on the 'bad ideas' list.

"You said you apologize right after the incident, yes?" Raven hair swung in a nod. "More than once?" Another. "You slept outside the bloody portrait of the Fat Lady trying to beg for forgiveness? And she _still_ said no?" A growl met the confirmation. "Lily Evans sounds like a vain, vindictive girl with no sense of loyalty or capacity for forgiveness."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus blinked, clearly confused by the outburst.

"Oh, come off it," Hermione scowled. "I've known the boys for half the time, and the things I've forgiven them for! Of course, you were hurting and embarrassed. If she were as compassionate or, hell, intelligent as everyone paints her to be, Lily would have figured out what the hell happened and forgiven you. It sounds like she wanted to be one of the popular girls by this time. You said she started abandoning your study sessions in favor of watching quidditch practice, yes?" He raised a brow, saying nothing more.

"And only went to them if she needed help, not to spend time with you?" The familiar scowl of her potions master spread upon his countenance with that question. "Don't give me that look, Severus. It's quite obvious, and I know you know it. _You,_ at least, are intelligent enough to acknowledge it. If I can forgive Ronald for being an absolute prat and child, she could have forgiven a slip of the tongue you were groveling for."

"Be that as it may, she did not," his clipped tones answered.

"I never noticed," her tart retort began before a large yawn interrupted it.

"I have kept you up overlong," Severus frowned, studying her with his intense, dark gaze.

"Nonsense, I wanted to talk," she fought off another yawn, hand shooing away the notion. "Besides, Tilly would have fetched me by now otherwise."

 _Crack!_

"Mistress must be going to bed, she must," the little elf in question commanded.

A mutinous glare glanced between the dark wizard and demanding creature. One appeared amused, the other earnestly firm. Arms in the air, she gave into the inevitable. She knew better than to expect Severus to help her. _He told me as much_ , Hermione sighed.

"Come, we shall continue this tomorrow," Severus rose and offered her his arm. Momentarily caught off guard by the gallant gesture, he snorted. "I _do_ have manners, Miss Gr- Hermione."

"I would never have guessed," her wry response. With a great sigh, Hermione stood slowly and accepted the proffered arm. "Merlin knows you never showed them in the Castle."

Warmth flooded Hermione, a knot untangling and relaxing in her stomach. Magic danced about, happy to find its mate once more. His dark gaze bore into her soul, soft, contemplative, with a spark of some undefinable emotion. She swallowed thickly, trying to regain her balance. How long they stood, simply looking at one another, Hermione did not know. The moment passed, fleeting and sweet before Tilly ushered the pair out of the parlor.

Companionable silence cocooned the pair as they meandered towards her wing. On occasion, Hermione pointed out rooms of interest. The music room and art studios, the library, a set of stairs that led up, and so on. Simple nods or sounds of understanding came from her mate. Soon, sooner than she wanted, they arrived at her door. Shyness, sudden and irrational, overflowed her.

A hand rested upon her swollen stomach, gently pressing where her restless son kicked. Lump in her throat, she gently, hesitantly, guided one of his larger ones. Dark eyes widened, darting down to the source of the sensation. Honey eyes observed her mate, his reaction, his reverence. Fire burned in the depths of his eyes when next they met her's. Taking her hand in one of his, he raised it to his lips and gave her knuckles a soft, fleeting kiss. Pleasure sparked through her body, reading the raw passion in those eyes. Leaning down, he placed an almost chaste kiss on her cheek.

"Good night, Hermione," his silky, smooth voice whispered into her ear, warm breath tickling her neck.

"Good night, Severus," her slightly breathy parting.

With an infuriating smirk, he turned and followed the bossy elf down the corridor into one of the guest rooms. In a daze, Hermione entered her own rooms and leaned against the door. If something as simple as kissing her knuckles and cheek, so tame comparatively, could heat her blood…

 _Bloody fucking hell_ , her mind supplied, as her nerves and excitement mixed together. _When did he learn to do_ that?


End file.
